The Night of the Cheyenne Called White Eagle
by Andamogirl
Summary: James West's and Artemus – magnet for trouble - Gordon's new series of adventures and assignments among American Knife's Cheyenne band.
1. Teaser

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

Author's notes : season 3. This story takes place immediately after the episode "The night of the Falcon" and continues after "The Night of the Legion of Death".

Personal note: Ross Martin was drop-dead handsome in the role of Feliz Muñez.

References to the following episodes: "The Night of the Legion of Death" (one of my favorite episodes) and "The night of the Double Edged Knife"; "The night of the Murderous Spring".

References to my stories called "The Night of the Deadly Showboat"; "The Night of the Comanche Moon" & "The Night of the Outlaw".

I had watched 'Geronimo' (1962) on YouTube when I started writing my story. It's a good movie and Ross Martin in the role of Mangus was really great.

The Cheyenne words, names and vocabulary written in my story are real, except the Cheyenne name of American Knife (Knife American in correct Cheyenne word order) which is an English-Cheyenne translation and is probably not accurate. It is composed with two words : 1) motšėške (knife). Simplified Spelling mochk and 2) Vé'ho'é (whiteman, modern, American). E. g. Vé'ho'éešeeh means raise someone in the whiteman way and gives É-vé'ho'éešeehóho: 'he raised him in the white way'. That last part of the name makes sense as American Knife was raised by missionaries and went to Dartmouth College where probably and logically he studied medicine. So, the name is Motšėškevé'ho'é.

Like in all my stories involving Indians (Comanche, Crows…), I did extensive research on the Cheyenne Indians to write this story and almost everything is accurate. But for the plot, some things are partially accurate or totally the result of my imagination.

 _American Knife_ _ **:**_ _(to Jim)_ _I understand your problem. It is very difficult to kill an old friend, so I thought... a new friend should do it for you._

 _Jim_ _: You lost your disguise.  
_ _Artemus_ _:_ _(being fanned by two Indian girls)_ _Well, wouldn't you? James?! They, uh, they, uh softening us up to carve us up?  
_ _Jim_ _:_ _(smiling at Little Willow)_ _No, no, no, they're... they're friendly Indians._

 _Jim_ _: Be careful. I don't think the townspeople are too fond of Indians.  
_ _Artemus_ _: Me no Cheyenne, me tame Indian._

The Night of the Double-Edged Knife.

Warning: self-inflected injuries and drug use (part of a ceremony). Graphic violence. Blood & injuries, hurt/comfort.

Many thanks to my beta reader Tripidydoodah.

WWW

 **TEASER**

 _Sinful, Colorado_

It was late at night when Artemus Gordon special agent of the U.S. Secret Service dismounted in front of Dr. Horace Humphries' office, also known as the Falcon (deceased).

He smiled. "Let's find out how he made his remarkable sedative," he said to himself before he pulled out a lock pick from his inside pocket

It was remarkable, indeed, he thought. It had no unpleasant after effects and was precise and predictable in its length of action.

It was perfect for him to use on missions in its actual liquid form – he just had to find how, perhaps using blank cartridges that would eject tiny darts containing the drug. And with the formula in his possession, he could make a formidable knock-out gas and knock-out gas bombs, he mused smiling, excited by the idea of realizing his next new inventions.

He easily opened the door. Once inside he struck a match, lit a kerosene lamp hung on the wall and looked around him. "Okay, let's start searching."

He took a look in the cabinets occupying the small waiting room, finding nothing interesting there and entered Humphries' office.

He lit another kerosene lamp placed on a table and looked around him: The room was filled with shelves lining the walls and there was an examination table standing in the middle.

He grimaced remembering being strapped on it, unable to move, Horace Humphries injecting him with his sleeping drug – he had hated that, like he really hated any injection. Being drugged, not to be in control of anything made him very, very uncomfortable and he tried to avoid it.

He opened the first cabinet, finding patients' files and headed paper for prescriptions. He opened a second one finding blank paper and empty files. He had to use his lock pick again to open a third cabinet- finding a big black bag inside.

He put in on the floor, opened it and gasped in surprise as he discovered that it was filled with bundles of banknotes. "Dr. Humphries left a small fortune here… and he won't need it anymore. It all goes back to the Treasury Department," he said as he closed the bag.

Spotting the doctor's worktable, Artemus moved there and saw a drawer under the top. He tried to pull it open but didn't manage to. It was closed.

"Artie, old boy, it's probably inside…" he said before using his lock pick once again. He easily opened the drawer and a split second later pulled a thick folder out. "Ha! Ha!" He rapidly opened it and looked over the formulas he found inside. Most of them were old fashioned remedies, but some others were more complex and labelled 'drugs' on top of the page. Each of them had a comment listing the after effects, agreeable or not… and he finally found the formula he was looking for. He read the comment written at the bottom of the page: "No after effects, very precise and predictable in its length of action… Great! You got it!"

Smiling happily Artie closed the folder. He pivoted and… CLICK! He froze hearing the metallic sound of a revolver hammer being cocked.

Instinctively he lowered his hand on the AG- monogrammed handle of his Colt, but he prudently let it there in its the holster.

He raised his hand slowly, and then he slowly pivoted, turned around and found himself face to face with a young brunette woman, wearing men's black clothes, her hat black too and holding a gun.

He took a prudent step back, his smile wavering a little. "I didn't hear you…You are as quiet as a cat." Then he asked politely, "Good evening, Miss. What can I do for you?"

The young woman narrowed her dark eyes in suspicion. "Don't do anything tricky Mr. Burglar or I'm going to shoot you. Drop your gun on the floor and raise your hands, now!"

Artie obeyed with a smile. "I'm not a burglar, miss. My name is Artemus Gordon, I'm a special agent working for the US Government. I have an identity card inside my jacket. I can show it to you if you want."

The brunette shook her head and said, "Leave your hands where they are! You're working for the US Government, then you are some kind of a law man?"

Artemus nodded. "You can say that. If you want to see Dr. Humphries, he's not here… He has stopped receiving patients and making prescriptions... definitely. But you don't look sick, Miss…?"

The young woman gave Artemus a cold smile. "I don't like pesky lawmen… When I meet one, he usually ends up dead and no one finds his body. I'm very creative."

Tensing, Artie said, "I assure you, I'm not a pesky lawman…" He frowned trying to work out who this young woman was: she had an accent, a Spanish accent not a Mexican one; she knew how to use a gun; she had killed lawmen before - then she was a killer, and thus her business had to be a criminal one. Yes! She was a professional assassin… his frown deepened as he realized he had seen those eyes once before… but on who? He never forgot a face…

He suddenly remembered who: Feliz Muñez. He snapped his fingers. "I know who you are, you are Feliz Muñez's daughter!... And obviously working in the same field as your father."

The brunette opened her eyes wide in surprise. "You know my father? Where is he? I came here to find him. He should have contacted me two days ago… but I received no telegram. That's why I came here. I knew he had to see Dr. Humphries here in Sinful."

Artie sighed. "I'm sorry to be the bearer of sad news, but your father is dead, Miss… he was killed in an explosion two days ago. He was buried in the local cemetery."

The young woman paled and took a step back in shock, her hand holding the gun trembling. "Wha… What? He's dead?… My father's dead? Mi padre murió... no, no, no.." She furrowed her brow, her brown eyes darkening with anger. "Did you kill him?"

Gordon shook his head. "No, I didn't. Men working for the Falcon – I mean Dr. Humphries threw a bomb inside the train compartment we were in and the explosion killed him."

She shook her head. "I don't believe you. You're a lawman, you knew he was a professional assassin and you killed him!"

Artemus shook his head too. "No, no, I didn't kill him but the Falcon did – and the Falcon is now dead, buried under the top of a collapsed mountain with his fabulous and terrifying canon – along with all the people that were here too. It's over."

Feliz Muñez's daughter stared at Artemus with a look filled with hatred. "No, it's not over. I'm sure that you have killed my father. You somehow discovered who he was and you eliminated him. You're lying, I don't trust lawmen, they are liars, all of them."

Reading his own death reflected in the young woman's black eyes Artie leapt on the her, adrenaline surging through his veins, forcing her to lower her gun.

But she pulled the trigger. BANG! The bullet caught him in his right side, just above his belt, point blank. It burnt and gouged out skin and flesh.

He yelped as white-hot pain flared across his side. He clutched it as a crimson stain rapidly spread beneath his fingers. He wavered on his feet for a moment and his knees buckled. He finally collapsed to the floor and his hat fell off.

His face twisted in pain, he pressed down hard on his wounded and sensitized flesh. He saw the young woman lean over him and place the muzzle of her gun against his forehead.

Everything blurred as he whispered, "Listen to me… I didn't… I didn't kill your… father, I swear."

The female assassin slowly pressed the trigger of her gun enjoying each second of it. "Liar! You're a liar! I'm going to kill you for killing my father, slowly, breaking your bones one by one with a bullet, then, I will terminate you with a bullet in your mouth…," she said coldly. She motioned her gun toward Artemus's shoulder. "Let's start here."

He raised his bloodied hand, feeling the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't do that! I didn't kill him, the Falcon did…"

Carmen Muñez's finger grazed the trigger…

BANG! The sharp crack of a gunshot resounded again and the six-shooter that the young woman was holding flew in the air.

She turned around in a flash and saw a man standing beside the door, pointing his smoking Colt at her. She scowled at him.

Stone-faced Jim West took a step forward. "Move away from my partner and put your hands on the wall. Don't try anything, because I won't hesitate to shoot you, woman or not."

Señorita Muñez glared at Jim and complied.

Surprised, Artie pulled himself up so he was half-seated, half-crouched on the floor. "Jim? What are you doing here?" He lowered his hand to his bleeding side and he pressed on the wound again.

Concerned; Jim looked down at his partner who had his hand clutching his side tightly. Blood was dripping through his fingers. "Saving your life. I arrived just in time."

The older man shook his head, "I mean I thought you were in the Wanderer telegraphing to Washington, making your report to Colonel Richmond. You followed me?"

Putting a knee to the floor, Jim nodded. "Yes, I did. After you left following dinner, I had a bad feeling about you having some problems here, and I was right. So yes, I followed you. And I stopped that woman before she killed you. You need to see a doctor."

Artemus released a sigh and smiled. "Good idea. Thank you, Jim. You always have very good intuitions. They saved my life a few times already."

Jim pulled up Artie's reddening shirt and Artemus hissed at the pain as he lifted his hand. The younger agent rapidly inspected the wound. Blood poured freely from his partner's right side, soaking through the white fabric and pooling down against the dusty wooden floor. It was hopefully a non-lethal deep laceration, but the skin was burnt, already swollen. "You have a deep laceration, your skin is burnt all around because I suppose she fired at you point blank, but no bullet holes, you were lucky."

Pain stabbing his injured side, gritting his teeth, Artemus nodded, his face was slick with sweat. "Yeah. But it hurts."

Jim stood up and moved toward the young woman. "Trying to kill a government agent is a federal offence, Miss", he said. You're going to end up behind bars for a long time." He grabbed her by an arm roughly and asked, "Who are you and why did you shoot my partner?"

She glared at him. "My name's Carmen Muñez. I wanted to kill your partner because he killed my father Feliz Muñez."

Jim was surprised. "You're his daughter?... and probably working for the Barcelona syndicate too like your father did." Carmen nodded. "My friend didn't kill your father; it was the Falcon who did. And now you're under arrest for attempted murder of a government agent."

Hearing rapid footsteps Jim pivoted, ready to fire and relaxed when he saw the sheriff and his two deputies all of them in their long underwear, wearing their gun belts (and the sheriff his star) enter the room. "Ah, sheriff, just in time." He released Miss Muñez, showed the old man his identity card and said, "My name's James West, I'm a special agent working for the Government. Arrest that woman sheriff, and lock her in a cell. She tried to kill my partner. Take good care of her and be careful, she's very dangerous. I'll send you two fellow agents to bring her to a federal prison as soon as possible."

The sheriff nodded. "Tom, Hank, escort the lady to my office and lock her in a cell." and the armed deputies framed Carmen Muñez.

Jim knelt again beside his partner who was pressing his hand on his side. He was pale and bleeding a lot. "Do you have a doctor here? – other than Dr. Humphries?"

The sheriff shook his head. "No, he's our only physician. And apparently is gone… because he's living upstairs and with that ruckus he should be here. Maybe he had a medical emergency and left… But I don't know where he is and when he'll be back."

Remembering what had happened to Humphries and the others (except Lana Benson who was enroute to a federal prison, escorted by a marshal), Jim said, "He won't come back, he's dead. It's a long story. Is there any other doctor in the vicinity? My friend needs medical attention."

The old man shook his head. "Not in the vicinity, no. You'll have to make three hours on a horse just one way to find one in Blacktown."

Propping himself on his elbows, wincing, Artie said, "It's okay Jim… there's no need for a doctor. It's just a deep cut. Once back in the Wanderer, you'll take care of that…"

Jim nodded. "We don't have a choice. Okay. I will take care of you and this won't be the first time, or the last, I'm sure." He smirked and added, "Fortunately the bullet cut its way into your _extra layer of winter padding_ … Your generous cuisine saved your life."

Frowning, a bit hurt, Artie huffed and said, "Not everyone can be built like a Greek god like you, Jim. Besides it's a temporary _winter padding_ as you call it because it disappears with spring time."

Jim smiled broadly. "And that _fleshy part of you_ reappears in December, just like magic."

Artie pouted childishly. "You're mean."

Jim chuckled. "Me? Never. Ah! Artie! You know that I love to tease you. You're so easy. You always fall for it." He became serious again and asked, "Do you think you can mount your horse to go back to the train? I will patch you up there, but after that we'll go to Denver where you'll see a doctor."

Artie nodded. "I think so, yes."

Jim helped his best friend to move into a sitting position. "Okay buddy. Ready?" Then he helped his best friend to stand.

Grimacing in pain Artie eyed the thick folder sat on the desk. "Jim, take that folder over there, I need it. The formula of the sleeping drug I want is inside. Take the black bag too."

The sheriff helped Artie to stay upright as Jim fetched the folder and the black bag.

BANG!

A second gunshot resounded and the sheriff collapsed on the floor, a bullet in his chest, pinning Artie under his dead body.

Standing beside the door Lana Benson took a step forward pointing her gun at Artemus's head. "Drop that folder and bring me the black bag, now!" she commanded. "Don't try anything Mr. West, or your partner Mr. Gordon is dead. You don't want him to die, do you?"

Moving the sheriff's body to the side and sitting on the floor, Artie said, "I see that you escaped Marshal Jefferson and came back here to take the money that's in the bag." Then he applied pressure on his wound, blood oozing between his fingers.

Jim frowned puzzled. "Money? What money?"

She nodded. "Good deduction Mr. Gordon. There's a lot of money in that bag, enough to start a new life. I had to take it. Come here Mr. West and don't do anything _foolish_."

Jim shook his head. "I never do, even more so when my partner's life is in the balance." He moved toward Lana Benson and placed the bag on the floor at her feet. "Take it."

Suddenly Artemus grabbed the woman's legs and tackled her to the ground, groaning in pain as the movement caused him more discomfort, and then, he rolled on his good side while Jim, in a flash, easily disarmed Miss Benson who was too surprised to react.

Pointing the gun at the woman, Jim said, "Remember what I told you in the train, Miss Benson, I never do anything foolish." He pulled the woman upright roughly and looked down at Artemus. "But my friend Artemus always does and he has done a lot of foolish and risky things over the years to rescue me…but if he hadn't I wouldn't be here today. He also has a knack for getting shot."

He looked down at Artie lying on his back, chest heaving, panting. His best friend was pressing his blood-covered fingers on his bleeding wound and was grimacing in pain. "It's over Artie, we'll soon be on our way back to the Wanderer, and once there, I'll take care of you," he said, his voice thick with concern. He glanced at Humphries' associate. "Miss Muñez is going to have a cell mate."

Lana Benson muttered a curse.

Giving a weak nod, Artie let his eyes drift shut. "Going to… make a nap while you take her… to the sheriff's office."

Jim smiled. "No sleeping on the job, Artie."

Artie smiled too. "Of course, partner." He blinked sluggishly at Jim twice before letting his eyes drift shut again with a long sigh.

WWW

 _Much later on the way to the Wanderer_

James West and a barely conscious Artemus Gordon were approaching the Wanderer stopped in the middle of

the countryside 20 miles away from Sinful (there was no railroad station there), when they saw a couple of Indians, riding their horses beside the rear platform of the train.

Jim frowned in alarm and reached for his Winchester sitting in his scabbard.

But he didn't have time to take it as two braves holding ropes suddenly coming out from the side bushes jumped on him.

The three of them crashed to the ground and Jim was easily neutralized, his arms and legs solidly tied in a matter of seconds.

His head swimming, Artie took his gun in a weak hand. "Oh, this is not good," he said. He looked at the two Indians threatening him with their short bows and arrows. "Something tells me that this is going to be a long, long night", he said. Then he closed his eyes, his gun dangling from his loose grip and he passed out with fatigue and blood loss.

Tbc.


	2. Act One part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 **(First assignment)**

 **Part one**

 _Later_

Slowly, very slowly, Artemus woke up, strong, unpleasant antiseptic assaulting his nose – and in pain. He opened his eyes and… gasped as he discovered an Indian sitting at his side on the edge of the bed, holding a cloth impregnated with an acrid liquid he finally recognized as his own disinfectant concoction. "Wha… American Knife?" he said, very surprised to see his Cheyenne friend here.

The Cheyenne, former Chief of one of the powerful bands of the Southern Cheyenne (called Heévâhetaneo'o - Roped People), and now medicine Man smiled and said, "Hello, Artemus, it's good to see you too again my friend."

Momentarily disoriented Artie blinked a couple of times, trying to figure out where he was – to find himself in his sleeping compartment, lying on his bed, his head resting on his pillow.

Then he remembered everything in a flash.

He let out a loud hiss and clutched the bedspread as the alcohol-based antiseptic came into contact with the open wound and burns, blood still oozing out. "Owww!" His hand grasped at American's wrist. "Hi! It's good to see you again my friend, but what are you doing here? Is something wrong with Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe, I mean Black Bear's band?"

The medicine man unclenched Artie's fingers from around his wrist. "Lay still, and I'll be done in a minute." He placed a soothing hand on his patient's arm. "Relax, Artemus. There is a solution to every problem and worrying is useless. I came here to ask you for help. I was impressed by your performance as a Cheyenne after we met for the first time. The disguise was perfect. I'd like you to disguise yourself as a Cheyenne warrior again, for an assignment."

Intrigued Artie frowned. "An assignment? What assignment?"

Motšėškevé'ho'é or American Knife responded, "I'll tell you later. But before that, I need to take care of your wound. Fortunately you have a complete first aid supply."

He continued his gentle cleaning of the deep laceration until he was satisfied, settled the bottle of antiseptic and the cloth on the table and picked up the cool glass of water he had prepared for Artemus. "Drink, my friend, you lost a lot of blood and need to replenish fluids." He brought it to the other man's lips and Artie took several swallows, drinking all of it. "Good!" he placed the empty glass back on the table beside the ruined cloth and took from there the syringe he had filled with a dose of painkiller when Artie was still passed out. He placed the tip against the other man's neck. "It's a painkiller to numb the pain before I stitch up the wound, and Jim told me, a remarkable invention of yours."

Immediately Artie flinched. He shook his head and in Cheyenne language, he said, "Save the needle, I hate syringes and injections. I don't need that. It's going to be alright. I can withstand pain pretty well."

The Cheyenne smiled. "Your accent is perfect, Artemus, I'm proud of you," he said in his own language. He nodded. "Alright, as you wish." He replaced the syringe on the table and instead took from the table the needle and the thread he had prepared too. "Roll on your uninjured side now, please."

His fingers loosening their hold on the bedspread Artie complied, slowly, gingerly, and he gritted his teeth, keeping his moans at bay. "I'm glad I met medicine men like you during my past missions… Otherwise I would have been dead for a long time now." He said and winced, his right side on fire.

Lifting a puzzled eyebrow American Knife asked, "Define medicine men like me, please."

Closing his eyes Artie, still in Cheyenne replied, "Medicine men that use both spiritual healing and plants… to make remedies to heal the body too. And you are different from the others because you know how to use white men's medical paraphernalia."

The Cheyenne nodded. "Ah! I understand. You're right my friend. The missionaries who raised me taught me a lot of things, how to use white men's medical paraphernalia included, and when I went to Dartmouth College I studied medicine there – white men's medicine." He smiled and still using his language he said, "You're a brave man, Artemus."

Feeling a bit anxious, Artie nodded and watched American Knife place the needle against his skin. "Okay, do it…" and the needle went in.

Motšėškevé'ho'é paused feeling that Artemus was tensed. "Relax my friend, you're not the first man I've done this for."

Relaxing – but only a little, Artie bit his lip against the pain, taking deep breaths, his eyes closed. "I know," he let out hoarsely. But, exhausted, he quickly found himself becoming lightheaded… and he lost consciousness a few seconds later.

The Medicine Man stitched the gouged wound on Artie's side – noticing with interest the black eagle tattooed on his lower back - which he knew symbolized courage, wisdom and strength - recognizing Comanche design – and he was astonished to see the marks left on his skin by the talons of the eagle. He traced them reverently with a fingertip. 'Only the bravest warriors of all are marked by an eagle and protected by the Wise One Above', he thought it wasn't the first time he had seen such marks – other great Cheyenne warriors had been marked like that in the past, but it was the first time he could see them on a white man, he called his friend, he reflected. He nodded and smiled. It made sense. He had always known that Artemus Gordon was an exceptional man; a great warrior and those marks confirmed it – and ended his musing there.

Gently, Motšėškevé'ho'é spread an old Cheyenne salve on the stitched deep laceration and the burns. It would accelerate the healing and Artemus wouldn't have any scar left, he thought.

He finally put a dressing on it before holding the dressings tightly in place with a bandage. He rolled Artie onto his back and injected him with the sedative, because he needed to rest. Then he covered his friend with a blanket up to his shoulders. "Pėhévenome (sleep well), he said, then he left the agent's sleeping compartment, heading toward the parlor suite.

Marmalade crouched at the end of the walkway waited for American Knife to leave and then she padded into her owner's room.

She jumped on the bed and leaped with feline grace onto Artie's stomach.

She sniffed the human's face and touched her nose to his, meowing. Then the tawny cat started rubbing its head against Artemus's jaw, purring loudly.

But Artemus didn't wake up.

WWW

American Knife entered the parlor suite shortly after, finding Jim West sitting on the couch, his strained face showing his worriedness.

There was a small black cat sitting on his lap, he noticed.

He smiled reassuringly and said, "Stop worrying my friend, Artemus is going to be alright. I treated his wound and he's sleeping." He took his place beside the other man and petted AG. The mini cat purred immediately. "I'm sorry about those two braves neutralizing you rather brutally. But I didn't know how you would react seeing Cheyenne warriors near your train. I had to take some precautions, you can imagine."

Jim smiled too. "It's alright, I understand, no harm's done." He chuckled and added, "Only my pride was hurt when in a matter of seconds, I was trussed up like a calf ready to be branded." He became serious again. "How did you know we were here?"

He let AG climb onto his shoulder where the mini cat had a better view of American Knife whom he started to observe attentively.

Motšėškevé'ho'é e smiled. "What's his name?"

Running a finger under AG's head, Jim said, "His name is AG. Artie has a cat too, named Marmalade, and she is probably with him right now. So, how did you know we were here?"

Brushing the small cat's nose, the Cheyenne responded, "That was easy, I went to Fort Reno, politely asked Colonel Richards if I could send a telegram to Washington, and he accepted. I sent that telegram to your superior, Colonel Richmond, explaining him why I needed to see both Artemus and you and explaining to him my plan. He told me where you were. With the approval of President Grant and a _sauf-conduit_ delivered by Colonel Richards in the President's name, I came here with some friends, traveling discreetly by night, keeping out of the way of people to avoid any conflict. You have a new assignment, by the way, helping me to give definite form to concretize my plan."

Looking through a window at the six warriors gathered outside around a fire, Jim said, "You came a very long way to get here. You were pretty vague 30 minutes ago when you told me why you came. You just told me "I need Artemus's help, it's very important;" but how can he help you and why?"

The Cheyenne sighed. "Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe or Black Bear, our Chief is dying, and he hasn't chosen his successor yet. He will on the next full moon. He's waiting for his son Ho'neohno'kaestse or Lone Wolf, to come back from the Pawnee territory to make of him his successor, but he won't come back, ever, because Black Wolf is dead. He died two weeks ago, killed by a group of Pawnee warriors he was chasing."

Jim frowned. "What? I thought people in the Indian Territory lived in peace."

Motšėškevé'ho'é shook his head. "Not everyone. Pawnee warriors regularly attack Cheyenne settlements to steal horses and weapons. And there are also bands of 'rogue' warriors from different tribes, like the Kiowa and the Apache who seek war with the US Government, regularly attacking patrols at the border of the Indian Territory, because they want to start a war. They think that, if they can force the soldiers to kill them, it will start a massive revolt of all the Indians in the Indian Territory against the whites. They are ready to sacrifice themselves for that. Being at war with the whites is for them, the only way they have a chance to have their ancestral lands back. But, fortunately, the soldiers have strict orders not to respond to any provocation."

Jim nodded. "That's a good thing."

American Knife nodded too. "Yes, you are right." He sighed then. "But one day there will be deaths on each side, because a soldier will have had enough of being shot at without being allowed to fight back. He will kill an Indian or two, or three ... or all the soldiers will fire on the Indians, and that will be the beginning of a very serious problem." He paused and stroked AG behind his ears, eliciting more happy purrs and continued, "Lone Wolf and I were together, separated from our companions when he died. He was hit by an arrow to his heart. He died instantly. I was hurt and played dead. When the Pawnees left – thinking that we were both dead – I dug a shallow grave, placed the body in it, and covered it with rocks, hiding it, so that wild animals don't feast on it. I will go back later, after this mission is completed, to bring his body back to the sacred ground where the Cheyenne are buried. When I joined the others later, I told them that Lone Wolf had disappeared when I was unconscious, probably captured by our enemies."

Intrigued, Jim asked, "Why?"

Petting the mini black cat's head, American Knife replied, "I kept that information secret because another brave, Vohpo'hame or White Horse, our strongest warrior would like to succeed Black Bear. He proposed himself to replace our Chief in case Lone Wolf couldn't. The council of elders approved. And I don't want him to be the new leader of our band. No, never."

Curious, Jim frowned and repeated, "Why?"

The medicine man tightened his jaw in displeasure and irritation. "Because White Horse wants to 'free' our band from its condition of – according to him – of being a _tamed_ and _weak_ Cheyenne band, he wants to make an alliance with the rogue warriors seeking war. He wants blood, white men's blood, and I don't. There were too many deaths on each side, too much blood was shed. I want my people to live in peace."

Placing AG on his lap again, Jim said, "You didn't tell Artie why you decided to be the band medicine man instead of being its chief."

The Cheyenne nodded. "I never knew my father, I was raised by missionaries. They were good people and they taught me a lot of things. But my father wasn't dead. He wanted me to have a good education, and white men gave that to me. After my studies, I chose to go back to my band – because I was, I mean I am a Cheyenne. My place was with my people. My father who was the band's medicine man taught me everything he knew, trained me, then, when Spotted Bird, our chief died, the council of elders chose me to be the new Chief. I accepted. But when my father died, I chose to take his place. He was my band's medicine man. Medicine People are considered the chosen ones within their tribe and the knowledge possessed by them is privileged, and it is transmitted from generation to generation. Secrets and formulas have been passed down in my family for hundreds of years…"

Suddenly AG leaped to the floor and meowed loudly.

The Cheyenne smiled. "É-póesóneve'šeme! He meowed," he translated instantly. "He's probably hungry." And like Jim he watched the mini cat pad toward his basket and food bowl, placed under the armchair.

Jim nodded. "He's always hungry, like Artie." He chuckled. "I named him AG because he once sheltered Artie's consciousness – long story. He somehow inherited Artie's appetite. He has some pieces of fish in his bowl… He just forgot it." Looking at the Cheyenne again, he asked, "So, like the other medicine men of different tribes I know, you possess supernatural spiritual healing, powers and the ability to treat sickness caused by evil spirits - hence the Westernized name 'Medicine Man'."

Raising a hand American Knife said, "I'm sorry Jim and don't be offended, but I can't discuss issues about medicine or medicine people with non-Indians."

Nodding Jim said, "I understand and I'm not offended. Now tell me, how can Artemus help you?"

Following Jim's gaze, American Knife saw the mini cat roll in a ball in his basket and yawn. "I need Artemus's help, because I want him to impersonate Lone Wolf. They both have the same height and build and the plus is that Artemus speaks our language."

Jim nodded. "True."

He knew that in order to complete his knowledge of the Cheyenne people (he had already spent a two-week leave with American Knife after they met the first time) Artemus had spent a three weeks' leave alone, immersed in American Knife's band.

Knowledge was the key word of his best friend's existence. Artie had learned their history, their religion, their warrior culture. "Yes I know. He speaks the Comanche and the Crow languages too. He was even adopted as a warrior by a band of Comanche and by a band of Crow."

Motšėškevé'ho'é was very surprised. "That's… extraordinary! That explains the Comanche eagle tattooed in his lower back. He was marked as a Comanche."

Jim nodded. "The Comanche and the Crow call him Strong Bear; because Artemis, the feminine version of Artemus is composed of the Greek word _arktos_ – which means Bear or Big Dipper - and _thémis_ which means great strength or "the order established by the gods."

The Medicine Man nodded. "Strong Bear is a warrior's name! I saw the marks left by the eagle on his back, too. He is protected by Ma'heo'o, the Wise One Above, the creator of all physical and spiritual life, including spirit-beings that took both plant and animal form. That's an immense honor for a white man and it's unprecedented. I'm sure that Artemus will tell those stories to me later." He smiled. "I should consider him as an enemy then, as the enemies of the Cheyenne are the Šé'šenovotsétaneo'o meaning the "snake people" you know as the Comanche and the Óoetaneo'o, the "crow – bird - people", meaning the Crow." We'll have to keep this secret, because it could compromise my plan. Ma'evoto, Red Tailfeather fought the Comanche and lost two brothers and friends during the fighting. He hates the Crow." He paused and added, "Ma'evoto and the warriors accompanying me are the only Cheyenne to know my plan. They didn't talk about this _assignment_ openly before leaving the settlement. They lied to their relatives and friends, telling them that we were going to find Lone Wolf and free him."

Jim nodded. "I bet they didn't like it. Indians don't lie."

The medicine man nodded. "Usually, but it is a case needs must when the devil drives." He paused again and continued, "I brought some clothes for Artemus belonging to Lone Wolf. The same clothes that he was wearing when he died." He took a photo of out of his fringed garment. "Here is a photo of Lone Wolf taken by a photographer from the Bureau of Indian Affairs. Artemus will be able to use it to create his disguise."

Taking the photo, Jim said, "Seeing that his son is back, Black Bear will choose him as his successor and not White Horse."

American Knife nodded. "Exactly."

Jim nodded. "Okay, but what about Artie? He's an adoptive Indian, twice, yes, loves everything Indian, but I don't think he wants to stay a Cheyenne Chief forever."

American Knife smiled. 'I know. I thought about that. Ma'evoto – who's a good man – will challenge Artemus, I mean Lone Wolf, to be Chief in his place. He will kill Artemus and then will be our new Chief. The council of Elders will approve, because he's a great warrior and loved by all."

Jim frowned in alarm. 'What? He will kill Artemus?"

The medicine man shook his head. "Of course not, I intend to give Artemus a powerful drug that puts someone in a state resembling death. It is precise and predictable in his length of action. He will collapse to the ground at the beginning of the duel, like he's been struck with a heart attack. He will look like he's dead. We'll bury him far from the Sacred Ground, where we bury all our dead, to facilitate his resurrection. No one will see him leave his grave in the middle of nowhere, except us. I have still to adjust some details with Red Tailfeather Red Hawk and with Artemus of course. What do you think of my plan, James?"

Jim rubbed his chin pensively. "That's a good plan, but I don't like Artie being alone among your people – no offense. But he's a magnet for trouble."

Motšėškevé'ho'é nodded. "I can invite you as a representative of the U.S. Government, to assist in the transfer of power between Black Bear and Lone Wolf, to assure the Government that the members of my band are peaceful people," he proposed.

Jim nodded. "Between Black Bear and someone posing for Lone Wolf. Fortunately for you and your plan, Artie knows how to ride and fight like an Indian."

The medicine man nodded. "And with my help, he'll learn everything about Lone Wolf too. We'll make of him a faux-true Cheyenne. Speaking of riding, I brought an Indian horse for Artemus. He will need it to make believe that he escaped from the Pawnee camp with it."

Jim nodded. "The warriors and the horses will be a little bit cramped in the stable car, but we're not going back to the Indian Territory by horse. We have the Wanderer."

Tbc.


	3. Act One part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT ONE**

 **Part two**

 _A week later, a few miles from the Cheyenne settlement_

 _Indian Territory, Oklahoma_

Meeting Artie beside Blackjack, Jim asked, "You wanted to see me Artie?"

Smiling like a kid with a new toy Artemus Gordon – wearing a very realistic mask of Lone Wolf's face – pulled out a bottle with a hand-pumped sprayer from the black stallion's saddle bag. "Héeh'e, I mean yes. Yes, I need your help, Jim." He placed the object at his feet and then he took all his clothes off, his bandage and his dressings too and, naked, he took his invention back. "Alright Jim, that sprayer – one of my latest inventions - contains an inoffensive chemical compound that will give my fair skin a dark tan, I call it a _self-tanner_. You can't remove it using water or rubbing it and it dries after a few minutes. I found that it would be easier to apply a faux dark tan that way than using a tinting cream, and the rendering will be more natural. And as I don't know how long I'm going to play Lone Wolf, my faux tan won't start to disappear for two months. I also placed a large patch of false skin on my tattoo in order to hide it."

Jim smiled. "Two months? I hope we will have completed this mission before that." His smile broadened as he noticed that his partner had shaved all his hair as Black Wolf did. "Okay, are you ready buddy? Now close your eyes." He chuckled. "Say goodbye to your white skin – for a while." Then he pulled on the trigger and, giggling, he sprayed his best friend with the self-tanner, everywhere.

Once Artie was tanned from head to the soles of his feet, he moved toward the bonfire and stayed there, waiting for his faux-suntan to dry. Then he began to dress using the clothes American Knife had brought with him and which belonged to Lone Wolf: he put on first the loin cloth held by a belt, then in order to ride, he put on leggings decorated with painted designs and colored pearls, after that he put on a fringed shirt decorated with painted designs and more colored pearls and, finally, his moccasins. Then he settled his dark, braided wig on top of his head. He had tied to it a hair drop adorned with glass beadwork, silver hair plates, and eagle feathers. "I placed a special adhesive on the inner surface of the mask and on the wig. It's very durable and will disintegrate on its own in a couple of months too. How do I look?" he asked.

Jim smiled. "Exactly like Lone Wolf ," he responded. "It's really impressive. You did a great job buddy. Your mask is just perfect."

Pleased Artie smiled broadly. "Thank you. I used a new material to do it; it looks just like real skin. I worked for several weeks to develop it and am very satisfied with the result. The mask is as thin as skin and once on my face you can't tell if it's a mask." He smiled. "I'm proud of it. It's my best mask so far."

Impressed Jim nodded. "But what about your voice?" He asked.

Still smiling, Artie waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, don't worry about that, Jim. When you were making a reconnaissance with a few warriors. I trained the whole morning with American Knife, testing new voices before finding the right one. I can imitate his voice perfectly now." He raised his left hand. "Lone Wolf is left handed, but I'm ambidextrous."

The Cheyenne medicine man joined the two agents beside the bonfire and froze on the spot, amazed. "Artemus, that's incredible! If I didn't know it's you standing here before me, I could swear I see Lone Wolf." He smiled and showed Artie the necklace he was holding. "The pendant is a bear tooth; it's a symbol of courage. Only the most courageous warriors wear it." He passed the necklace around Artemus neck. "This necklace is for you, Artemus, because you deserve it. You're a brave man."

Artie blushed with pleasure and pride underneath his dark tan, grinned and bowed. "Thank you very much", he said.

Jim smiled. "I agree, and it's appropriate to wear a bear claw necklace for a man called Strong Bear – when he's among his Indian friends."

Shaking his finger, Motšėškevé'ho'é.said, "For now he's Lone Wolf." He smiled. "Now let's see what reaction the warriors have. After that, we'll eat. Spotted Eagle has killed rabbits and Sitting Horse has gathered lots of berries."

Artie smiled. "Náháéána ! I'm hungry."

WWW

 _Much later in the Cheyenne settlement_

Ho'neohno'kaests / Lone Wolf. (Artemus Gordon) followed by Jim West and Motšėškevé'ho'é. / American Knife entered the settlement at night. The other warriors accompanying them dispersed right away, returning to their tepee and family.

The three men dismounted next to the Chief Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe's tepee.

The warriors guarding the place gathered around faux-Lone Wolf, patting his arms and shoulders very happy to see that he had managed to escape from the Pawnees and that he was alright.

Playing his role and happy to be back among his friends, Artemus smiled to them, talked to them briefly and then entered the tepee.

Jim and American Knife remained politely outside. It was a family reunion.

Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe / Black Bear was firstly very surprised to see his son (but not) and then he sighed in relief and grinned happily. "I knew that you would come back my son, I prayed to Ma'heo'o so he would bring you back to me, and the Wise One Above granted my request," he said in Cheyenne dialect.

Artemus-Lone Wolf knelt beside Black Bear on a pile of furs, beside the small fire set in the center of the floor, and imitating Ho'neohno'kaests's voice, he said in Cheyenne dialect, "I escaped from the Pawnees, father. They tried to capture me again but I managed it so they lost track of me. American Knife and the warriors found me on my way home and here I am, father."

The old Cheyenne touched the other man's face tenderly. "I'm dying my son, you arrived just in time. In two days, I'd have chosen White Horse to succeed to me because he the strongest warrior, but now that you're back, I'll be proud to make of you my successor. Welcome back, Lone Wolf."

Not-Lone-Wolf hid a smile. "Thank you." 'White Horse is not going to be happy to hear that', he thought. Then he lowered his eyes in pain. "I'm so sorry for you father… can American Knife do anything for you? He knows many remedies and he has healing powers…"

The old Chief shook his head. "No remedy can cure old age, Ho'neohno'kaests. I'm dying happy. I had a long good life and I will have a good death. My spirit will travel up the long fork of the Milky Way to Seana, the camp of the dead where I will join your mother and the other members of our family. I am proud of you, my son. You will make a good Chief; you're strong, courageous and wise. You will do the right things to keep our people in peace and prosperity."

Artie-Lone Wolf nodded. "I will father, I promise." He looked up at the entrance of the tepee, switched language and called, "American Knife, Mr. West, come in." The two men complied a couple of seconds later. Still in English he added, "Father, this is Mr. West, he came here once a few years ago. Little Willow _tortured_ him… American Knife invited him to follow the power transfer between you and me. The U.S. Government wants to see that everything is alright here, peaceful, in our band."

Black Bear nodded. "You are welcome here, Mr. West, your help was important in clearing our band from those accusations of having killed people building the railroad," he said in perfect English. "I remember you and your partner, Mr. Gordon very well. Is Mr. Gordon accompanying you?"

Jim shook his head and lied. "No, Chief Black Bear. He was gravely wounded during our last mission, and he's bedridden in the Washington Military Hospital."

Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe nodded. "I'm sorry to hear that. I hope he will get better soon. The ceremony will begin the night after tomorrow when the first stars appear in the sky."

Suddenly the door made with a bison calf skin opened again and a warrior entered the tepee. He was tall, broad, and strong. He was wearing a loincloth and that's all. His face like his arms and legs were covered with scars earned in battles.

He had a long knife slid into his belt.

Faux-Ho'neohno'kaests moved toward the hulking warrior and looked up at him, knowing that it could be only one person: the former pretender to Black Wolf's position as Chief: Vohpo'hame. His face neutral, not impressed at all, he said in Cheyenne, "I'm back, White Horse."

Towering over Lone Wolf, White Horse moved closer, entering the other man's personal space in an intimidating manner. "I thought you were dead."

Faux-Ho'neohno'kaests shook his head and smiled, relaxed. "I'm not. I hope to see you at the ceremony of power transfer tomorrow night…"

Growling like a furious bear Vohpo'hame put his hand on his knife threateningly. "You're not worthy to be the new Chief of this band, Lone Wolf, because you're weak. I'll prove it to anyone here tomorrow, at sunset. I defy you to face me in the 'blood challenge'. His face hardened. "I will be victorious. Bring your knife." Then he turned around and left the tepee.

Lone Wolf (Artemus) frowned in concern. "What?"

American Knife put a hand on Lone Wolf's arm. "Let me lead you to your tepee my friend. You are tired and need some rest." He bowed his head in respect. "Good night, Black Bear." Then he added, "Come with me Mr. West, please."

WWW

 _Inside Lone Wolf's tepee, later_

Feeling drained, Artemus's legs turned to jelly and he slumped on a thick blanket. Then he rubbed his temples tiredly. "Nákȧhaneotse, I'm tired, yes," he said to the Medicine Man starting a fire and released a loud yawn. "Can you tell me what White Horse has in mind?"

The Cheyenne sighed, embarrassed. "White Horse wants to test your endurance to the pain. For that, he has defied you to the 'blood challenge'."

Cringing Artie said, "Blood challenge? I don't like the sound of that…"

The medicine man continued, "White Horse will make his blood flow… while inflicting himself self-injuries as a trial of physical endurance. You will have to cut yourself with your knife in return showing no pain – and he won't show any pain believe me, he will declare you unworthy to be the new Chief. Weak people can't make good leaders. My people are traditionalists and place courage above all other qualities. Black Bear and the council of elders will chose him as the future new chief if you show any pain – a sign of weakness. They won't have any choice. I'm sorry, Artemus, I didn't expect him to do that."

Hunching his shoulders Artie nodded, resigned. "I have only one thing to do then, if I want to be the new Chief – show no pain."

Sitting beside Artie Jim patted his best friend's shoulder encouragingly. "You'll make it buddy. You're very courageous, you can withstand any pain."

Artie sighed. "Thank you Jim for your confidence in me."

Motšėškevé'ho'é.nodded. "I have every confidence in you too, my friend," he said. "I'm going to prepare a salve for you, to treat your wounds."

Feeling a cold shiver running down his spine, Artemus cringed, his mouth dry with apprehension. "Oh boy; I hate that 'blood challenge' already."

WWW

 _The next morning_

It was almost noon when Jim West took a deep breath and began to stretch. He opened his eyes and blinked, disoriented for a few seconds as fuzzy memories re-arranged themselves in the proper order. He recognized Lone Wolf's tepee, painted with abstract, geometrical designs, all brightly colored.

He pulled himself into a sitting position and pushed the thick blankets covering him to one side before stretching and realized that he was alone.

Once he was outside. He glanced around him looking for his partner but the settlement seemed to be only populated by women and children. There were no men except old ones. He headed toward the Medicine Man's tepee and found him inside, sitting by the fire, preparing a smelly concoction in a terracotta bowl. "Good morning American Knife," Jim said.

The Cheyenne smiled. "Good morning, James. Did you sleep well?"

Concerned, Jim nodded and asked, "Yes. Where's Artie?"

American Knife added water to his preparation. "He's gone. He left at dawn to train with the short, stout bow with the other warriors," he replied and seeing the other man frown in concern he added, "Don't worry about him, James. Artemus is going to be fine." He poured liquid grease into the bowl he was holding. He turned the mixture with a wooden spoon. "Before leaving, Artemus told me the whole story with that eagle in the Comanche settlement and what happened with the Crows. They are incredible stories."

Jim smiled. "Yes, that's normal. Artie's incredible."

Motšėškevé'ho'é.finished his preparation. "There, I just finished my salve. Artemus will need it tonight; it helps wounds to heal rapidly and without any infection and any scar left." He frowned in concern. "I hope he won't show any pain… because White Horse must not become the new leader of our band. It would be absolutely catastrophic for us."

Jim nodded feeling confident in his partner willpower. "Don't worry; Artie knows what's at stake here, he won't show any pain, believe me," he said.

Tbc.


	4. Act Two part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

 **WWW**

 **ACT TWO**

 **Part one**

 _Later, at sunset_

The whole band gathered at sunset in the middle of the settlement: women, children, elders, warriors… everyone, all circling the big bonfire. The women were singing songs passed down through many generations as several warriors danced and others used the traditional drum. The Chief was sitting on a buffalo fur between James West and American Knife…

Faux Lone Wolf and White horse stood on each side of the bonfire, bare-chested, wearing only a loincloth. They both held a knife.

Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe raised his hand and silence settled. In his language he said, "Vohpo'hame has defied Ho'neohno'kaests to the 'blood challenge' because he wants to prove that my son is weak, therefore unable to succeed me, to become the new leader. Let's hear what he has to say."

Raising his knife above his head, White Horse said in Cheyenne, "I'm not weak like Lone Wolf. I'm the strongest warrior. I will show no pain – withstanding it like a true warrior." He looked at Lone Wolf with contempt. "When I become Chief, I will banish you from this band, where weak people do not have a place." Then he puffed out his chest and flexed his muscles to impress his adversary. "I'm going to enjoy this."

Unfazed, keeping his face impassive but stressed inwardly, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Artemus lifted his knife too skyward. In Cheyenne too, he declared, "I will show you and everyone here that I am worthy to be the next chief of this band."

Black Bear nodded, proud of his son. "Let the blood challenge begin!"

On that the songs re-started, the dances and the music too. American Knife translated what the Chief had just said to Jim.

Then, looking at Artemus he mouthed, "Héhnovetānȯhtse!" (Courage!)

The faux-Cheyenne nodded.

Giving his opponent a daring look, White Horse used his knife to slice his right pectoral deep, and blood immediately poured from the wound.

His shoulders tensed but his face remained blank. "Your turn," he said.

Faux-Lone Wolf placed the sharp blade against the top of his right shoulder and made a deep gash in his flesh until he reached the crook of his arm.

Blood dripped on the ground. He clenched his teeth, keeping his face neutral, determined not to show any weakness.

The Cheyenne tightened his hand around his knife and suddenly plunged the blade in his left side, deep, then pulled it out, showing no sign of pain.

Blood rolled down on his abdomen and lower on his leg.

Artemus-Lone Wolf glanced at Jim and noticed that he was pale and radiating worry. He gave him a reassuring smile and did the same thing White Horse had done before him.

He started sweating profusely and to tremble, but kept his face immobile, like carved in marble doing his best to ignore the pulsating burn of his newest injury.

Smiling, relaxed, faux-White Horse cut his left leg three times, deeper each time. Blood poured again, along his leg, to reach his foot.

Faux-Ho'neohno'kaests drove the blade into his right thigh, twice. Blood fountained onto his leg and he remained stoic. Only the tightness of his jaw and the few – barely audible - sharp inhalations of breath giving away the pain that he was in.

He noticed with both envy and admiration that White Horse wasn't affected at all. He was even smiling… in future victory.

The hulking warrior slashed his chest, from his already bleeding pectoral to the other one, and then he did it again, stoically.

Using his knife, Artemus-faux-Cheyenne cut down his skin, from his middle-thigh to his knee. Blood immediately welled up from the deep cut and matted his calf within seconds.

The pain was bordering on unbearable. He didn't know how he did it but he managed to stay immovable, his face still expressionless.

He felt all his energy draining out of him in time with all the blood leaving his body.

Sitting beside Black Bear American Knife leaned forward and said in his language, "You have to stop the blood challenge Chief Black Bear. He responded to the challenge by shedding his blood and showing no pain but his endurance to the pain, that he's strong, as strong as any warrior, as strong as White Horse. Your son showed that he is worthy to succeed to you. Besides, he needs to be fit enough to assist in the ceremony of power transfer tomorrow night and he won't be able to if he is too gravely injured."

Black Bear nodded. "You are right, you're a wise man, Motšėškevé'ho'é." He raised his hand again and silence resumed. "Everyone here witnessed that Lone Wolf showed no pain. We all saw his courage. We are all satisfied. My son is worthy to succeed me. It ends the blood challenge."

Disagreeing, White Horse glowered at Black Bear. His hands clenched tightly at his sides, he growled, "No! Let us continue!"

The Cheyenne Chief shook his head. "He'kotoo'éstse! (Be quiet!) The blood challenge is over. I repeat it Ho'neohno'kaests, my son, showed in everybody's view that he deserves to succeed me."

Tears blurring his eyes, his vision graying, Artie-Lone Wolf swayed on unsteady legs. He was panting, his breath ragged in his chest.

The world around him slowed.

He had pain everywhere. "Ma'ééhe! (It hurts!)…" He mumbled, in Cheyenne. He could feel bile rise in his throat and his left hand reflexively cover his mouth, but he swallowed it down. He was shaking uncontrollably, knees threatening to give out.

American Knife and Jim rushed to Artemus's side as he collapsed catching him mid-fall and they held him steady. He leaned heavily on them as blackness engulfed him.

More than furious, White horse headed toward his tepee.

He should have won, he should have been chosen as the next leader of the band. But the old Chief had stopped the ceremony before Lone Wolf lost consciousness and thus showed his weakness, he thought raggedly, pushing aside anyone in his way.

WWW

 _Later under Lone Wolf's tepee_

American Knife knelt beside Artemus Gordon and shook his head in awe. "Artemus really deserves to wear a bear tooth around his neck, he was very courageous. He showed no pain."

Sitting cross-legged beside his partner, more than worried Jim nodded and said, "Yes, yes, but look at him! He's bleeding from everywhere!"

The Cheyenne touched Artemus's throat, taking his pulse. "His pulse is fast, and he's a bit cold, it's because of the blood loss. But he isn't in any danger." He placed a large terracotta bowl beside Artie containing lukewarm water, soaked a cloth in it, and then he started removing the blood covering him.

Jim ran an absentminded hand through the damp hair near his best friend's forehead, burning with fever through the thin layer of the mask, he noticed, and said, "You're going to be okay, buddy." He knew he had said that to reassure himself, because Artie was unconscious and couldn't hear anything, and would probably stay unconscious for a while.

Once Artemus body was cleaned Motšėškevé'ho'é.used his finger to open or re-open the cuts making blood well up and drip down then poured inside a homemade disinfectant.

Suddenly there was a moan and Artie tried to open his eyes, barely doing so. "Mahpe…water, thirsty," he croaked, his throat dry.

Immediately American Knife brought a terracotta cup to his lips and commanded, "Drink!" before Artemus was fully conscious. The other man complied thirstily and then blinked up into Jim's concerned face. "Jim?... it hurts, it hurts so much..." He wiped a sheen of sweat from his face. "Hot…" His pain-dulled, chocolate eyes became unfocused. He closed them as he felt consciousness begin to slip away.

His head slumped bonelessly to the side as he passed out.

American Knife met Jim's questioning look. "I gave him a powerful potion that will make him sleep…" He touched his patient's cheek and nodded. His skin was hot and dry. "He has a low-grade fever, which was expected. But that potion will stop his fever. He should sleep till tomorrow afternoon." Then using a needle and thread he started stitching all the cuts the other man's had done to himself.

Frowning Jim asked "What's next?"

Once all the stitches were in place, the Medicine Man covered them with a thick layer of the greenish, greasy, smelly concoction he had prepared earlier. "It's a powerful salve with antiseptic properties. It will help the healing and prevent any infection. Artemus won't have any scars afterwards." He touched his patient's cheek and nodded. His skin was hot and dry. Looking at Jim he finally responded, "The next ceremony will be grueling for Artemus, especially in his condition: after the ceremony of power transfer, I'll give him a powerful drug after which he will dance, until he collapses, having visions… If he was a real Cheyenne, those visions would connect him with all the spirits of his ancestors and with the Wise One Above; He would visit the spirit world and the Supreme Being, then they would give him their blessings… But Artemus will have visions of a different kind and it could be deadly for him… If he says something that Lone Wolf couldn't know, or simpler if he talks with his own voice, be himself, then everyone will realize that he's an impostor. White Horse will be more than happy to kill him, and then claim the right to be the next Chief."

Furrowing his brow Jim asked, "What can we do to avoid this happening?"

The Cheyenne shook his head. "Unfortunately, nothing, we can just hope everything will be alright. I'm going to sing a healing song for it."

WWW

 _Much later in Lone Wolf's tepee_

It was past noon when Artemus's eyelids finally flickered open. At first the faux Cheyenne didn't recognize his surroundings and then he remembered where he was and noticed Jim sitting beside him looking down at him, wide-eyed and anxious.

Memories flowed back. "Hi Jim! I'm going to be okay… " He said with a grimace of pain and sweat began to slick his skin. "Ow! For now, everything hurts…"

Jim placed a hand on his partner's shoulder. "Hiya Artie, how do you feel?"

Artie sighed. "I'm tired and achy and a bit nauseous. But don't worry; I'm going to be fine. I've had far worse than this, you know that, James my boy. It's just a few cuts and stabs… Well, I did a pretty good job on myself with that knife – and that hurts!"

Swallowing, his mouth dry, Jim nodded. "I know. I was there."

Artie managed to sit with Jim's help pushing him in his back, stiffly, wincing all the way. He groaned as pain ripped through his body at the movement. "I'm sorry you had to see that… But I didn't have any other choice. White Horse challenged me each time…" He glanced at the long stitched cut he had to his right arm, coming from his shoulder to the crook of his arm, finding it covered with a thick layer of greenish, greasy smelly salve – like all his others self-inflicted (and stitched) lacerations. They had started to heal. He smiled and said, "It looks awful, smells awful, but American Knife's salve is fantastic. It's so powerful that I will heal rapidly and won't have any scars. I would ask him the formula of his fabulous salve… but he won't tell me. It's a secret." He rubbed his temples tiredly. "Oh boy! I'd like this mission to be over already."

Shaking his head Jim sighed. "Unfortunately, it's not over… After the power transfer, American Knife will give you a powerful drug and then you'll have visions, hallucinations…."

Rubbing his tired eyes, Artie interrupted Jim. "I know. It's the way Cheyenne connect with their gods, and receive their blessings." He furrowed his brow. "Uh-oh!" he said, swallowing hard, realizing that it was a trap, a trap that could end with his death. "Once drugged, I'm going to lose control of myself. If the real me takes over, and it's very possible… The Cheyenne will realize that I'm not Lone Wolf, but an impostor and they will kill me. No, White Horse will kill me."

Frowning in worry too, Jim nodded. "Then let's hope you will stay in your role of Lone Wolf, Artie, or it will be your last."

Silent, they both looked at the fire dying down, both too exhausted to say anything.

WWW

 _Later, at night_

Ho'neohno'kaests (Artemus), drugged to the gills, (prior to the ceremony, he had smelled a burning bundle of different herbs under American Knife's tepee intended for altering the state of consciousness) moved toward the sacred fire, staggering.

His whole body twitching slightly, Artemus started to dance on unsteady legs, the way American Knife taught him, turning rhythmically on himself with the sounds of the drums, with women singing, his arms raised upward.

He danced around the Sacred Fire, alimented with wood and sacred herbs, the smoke facilitating the connection with the spirit world, under the gaze of everyone, briefly catching Jim's stricken face and American Knife's worried look with each lap.

Faux-Lone Wolf ended his dance abruptly, after his seventh lap and he sank to his knees next to the bonfire. He felt himself falling sideways and hit the ground, barely conscious, and boneless… then he rolled onto his back and looked up through dilated pupils at the dark sky filled with stars… so many stars, so bright, and… leaving space, gathering and coming toward him. "That's impossible, I'm hallucinating", he said with his own voice, loud drums and loud songs muffling his words.

The stars were now orbiting around him in a slow pace, creating a ring of bright light.

That was his last coherent thought as he reached out with his both arms to touch them. They were glowing, pulsating, like hundreds, like thousands of mini suns, he could feel their comfortable warmth envelop him and grinned in total bliss… "This is amazing…"

He breathed out, "Nápévomóhtahe…" (I'm feeling good)… Mmmmmmm…" then he grinned from ear to ear, like a loon. He was so lightheaded he felt like he was floating. "Mmm…. Drugged, good."

But it didn't last.

His body was on fire.

 _He clenched his jaw, his breath hitched and he suddenly screamed in fright as the mini suns exploded, one by one… and gigantic balls of fire headed toward him. They joined and a unique, gigantic wall of fire and hot air hit him._

 _Panic flared in his eyes. He screamed._

 _Shells were falling from the dark sky, coming from everywhere, raining on the battle field like comets. He was running, surrounded by raging explosions, by balls of fire engulfing his men all around him, burning them alive, and shredding them in bloody pieces. He was zigzagging between the deep scorched shell holes in the ground and between the carbonized bodies of the soldiers of other companies… so many soldiers, hundreds of them, burnt beyond recognition, dismembered, almost vaporized – with only a limb left on the blood-reddened grass as last remains._

 _He stopped, somewhere in that hellish landscape, in the terrifying heat. He was exhausted gulping the air which was choked with powder and smoke, burning his throat_ _and with the nauseating smell of burning flesh and blood floating everywhere. He bent over as a wave of bile rose up from his stomach. He began to heave and then vomited._

 _Horrified, he sank to his knees and looked up at the sky and breathed out, "Oh God…" The sky was black with smoke and ashes above him._

 _He looked down at his hands, so burnt they were dark as ash and gasped in both surprise and horror as he watched them… crumble and fall off, bit by bit at his feet, then his burnt feet broke – and he crashed to the ground, hard._

 _He screamed in panic as the ground opened beneath him taking the shape of a grave. He fell inside and flames formed a burning coffin… beginning to eat away the rest of his body._

 _He noticed with surprise a golden falcon was flying over his coffin made of flames, then the bird's head got bigger, bigger, becoming the big, dark, metallic mouth of a canon, a falcon-shaped canon… pointing toward him. There was a loud detonation and a burning white light engulfed him as the shell hit him. He exploded and finally turned into ashes._

 _He came back to life, feeling bizarre… He felt like his whole body was floating, no flying. And not as a human, but as a bird he realized in total awe, a big bird similar in size and appearance to an eagle except he had vibrant peacock-like colored_ _plumage_ _with_ _red,_ _blue and_ _bright_ _gold;_ _his legs were covered in scales of yellow-gold with rose-colored talons. He was now a Phoenix, had just arisen from the ashes of Artemus Gordon dead in a show of flames and combustion. A new life awaited him._

 _He took off, flying above the Cheyenne settlement, then high, and higher until he touched the sky, and headed toward the sun._

 _Once close to the giant ball of fire he merged with it – becoming one with it, feeling whole, complete, in peace at last._

 _He emerged from the sun changed. He wasn't a man anymore but a white eagle._ _The sun was reflecting on my body and it looked like it was made in gold._

 _Out of breath, his whole body shaking Artemus-Lone Wolf's legs buckled from beneath him as the world blurred into golden light._

Exhausted, shaking, Artemus lost consciousness, his clothes and hair soaked with sweat. American Knife was at his side a couple of seconds later.

He touched the other man's neck feeling for a pulse and sighed in relief. It was over. Artemus would be fine and his secret identity was safe.

Tbc.


	5. Act Two part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

 **WWW**

 **ACT TWO**

 **Part two**

 _Much later under Ho'neohno'kaests's tepee_

It was the middle of the night when Artemus shifted in his sleep and mumbled. Then, suddenly, he started thrashing violently from side to side and woke up screaming, arching on the bed made with several layers of buffalo furs. "Nooooo…. Nooooo…. Noooooooooo!" he cried out, hoarsely.

He pulled himself up on his knees, whimpering and disoriented. He looked around him, tears escaping from his glazed, half-lidded eyes. Like a frightened boy, he found refuge in the closest safe place he could find to escape from his nightmare… in Jim's arms.

"It's okay Artie, I've got you." He said, stroking Artie's shoulders as he curled into his lap. "You're safe, it's over, it's over, it was a bad dream." He held Artie close.

Rolled in a trembling ball, huddled in the other man's arms, Artie struggled to slow his breath and his heartbeat, as Jim was running his hand through his wild curls soothingly.

He slowly regained composure. "Thank God, it's over," he whispered.

One minute later, he sat heavily beside his best friend and buried his face in his trembling hands, feeling cold sweat running down his face.

Brow furrowed in concern, Jim asked, "How do you feel Artie?"

Rubbing his temples as his head pounded in time with his heart, Artemus said, "My head hurts. I feel kinda fuzzy and I'm aching all over and I'm a bit nauseous." The drug was wearing off and he had started remembering everything. "That was no nightmare…not exactly," he breathed out and winced as his throat ached. A big part of his visions were hallucinations, figments of his vivid imagination, but the most parts, the shells, the explosions, him running on the battlefield covered with dead bodies, carbonized, or in pieces, were his own memories, he mused, while Jim ran a soothing hand over his back to comfort him. "That was horrible…"

Frowning in concern, as Artie looked pale and washed out, his eyes hollow and his hair matted with sweat, Jim said, "If it hurts you, don't tell me anything. You don't have to."

Artie looked up at his partner. "No, it's okay. That drug brought back very painful memories." His breath hitched for a few seconds and he calmed down. "I almost died that awful day in the battle of Port Gibson… A confederate shell exploded very close. Paralyzed by terror I didn't feel anything when the shrapnel hit me, I just stayed there, immobile while watching a huge wall of fire come toward me, rolling like a monstrous wave from hell… Then I finally realized that I was going to die and my brain kicked back into action. I took a few steps back and fell backward into the deep bottom a big shell hole. The flames passed just over me, brushing my hair… I wasn't burnt, but I still can feel the atrocious heat. When I left the hole, bleeding from everywhere, everything was devastated, burnt, turned into ashes… the ground, the trees, my men, all my men…" He choked back a sob. "They were all dead, a whole company, I was the only one left alive - barely alive. They were good men Jim, brave men, some of them were my friends; others were young men, barely old enough to enroll and-and I lost them all…all my men dead within minutes." New tears rolled down his cheeks and he closed his eyes. "That was horrible…" he repeated.

Pressing Artie against him in a comforting gesture, Jim said, "You told me that once… I'm sorry you remembered that, Artie."

Using the back of his hand to dry his eyes, Artie said, "I remembered it, and thanks to the drug, it mixed with some horrible hallucinations." He parted from his best friend's soothing embrace, mouthing 'thank you' and lay down on a nest of buffalo furs, feeling drained. "I would have preferred to meet the Wise One Above and have a conversation with it…" He raised his hands and looked at them to be sure they were still there, intact. He had hallucinated them calcined, falling into pieces to the ground… "It looked so real Jim". Then he realized that his hands and arms were painted in red with mysterious signs painted in white on top. He pulled himself into a sitting position and surveyed his body, naked save the loincloth – and entirely covered with red ochre paint and with other signs – probably magical, he thought, drawn on it. He then remembered American Knife using his hands to paint him with magical symbols before the ceremony, in order to protect him from malevolent spirits during his voyage into the Spirit World. "I'm now the new Chief of that Cheyenne band," he said. He smiled weakly, feeling better and looking at Jim he said, "I could have you tortured, you know, carved up nicely."

Jim smiled too, happy that his partner felt better. "I prefer to be tortured by Little Willow, she's an expert in kiss-torture… my favorite." He frowned, puzzled. "I just realized I didn't see her since we came here…"

"Because she's not here," American Knife said, as he entered the tepee. "She's visiting her sister Little Sparrow living in another band." Once kneeling in front of faux-Lone Wolf, he bowed respectfully and added, "I have sad news,

Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe - Black Bear died last night. We are going to celebrate his death, because once his life ends here, on Earth, he will start a new life in the Spirit World."

Both Jim and Artie lowered their heads in respect. "I'm sorry," Artemus said. "He was a good man and a good Chief. He will be missed."

The Cheyenne nodded. "Yes, he will. Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe lived to an old age and it's the sign of a life well lived, and thus his soul will be born again."

Artie heaved a long sigh. "Speaking of dying…I died in my visions, and I was born again, but in a different form: I was a phoenix. I flew toward the sun and I merged with it. Then I emerged from it and I was a white eagle… the sun was reflecting on my body and it looked like it was made of gold."

The medicine man nodded. "The Phoenix, is an eagle-like creature attached to the worship of the sun, which is similar to the golden eagle. You my friend are connected with eagles. Not only the eagle messenger of the Wise One Above is protecting you – and thus the Wise One Above protects you - but your Guardian Spirit is an eagle too." He paused and continued, "When a boy turns fifteen, his rite of passage to enter manhood, starts with his spiritual journey on a vision quest. During the Vision Quest a Spirit Guide is revealed. This power animal walks through life with him."

Rubbing his tired face, Artie nodded. "I had a kind of vision quest, and my Spirit guide was revealed to me, it's an eagle."

Motšėškevé'ho'é. Nodded. "And it's a great honor for a non-Indian man. Power Animals are a supernatural power that embodies a person with the powerful traits and characteristics of the animal. So you have the characteristics of golden eagle. It's a powerful animal – I'm not surprised he's protecting you. He's the symbol of the sun, the source of all life – and you save lives Artemus – and it's also symbolizes great strength and courage and powerful intellectual ability. It's the symbol of an exceptional man, which you are, my friend."

Artie grinned; pleased by the compliment. "You're right about me being connected with eagles. You heard the story with the Comanche, but there was an eagle flying over me when I was attacked by a mountain lion while heading toward the Crow reservation. It led Crow warriors to me and they saved my life. And, before that, I met the Chief of a Chickasaw band, and he called me Osi', that means eagle in his language. He called me that because there was an eagle circling high in the sky around the small house I was in… I was very sick… and in Cheyenne I told the evil spirits that brought sickness to me to go away. Outside an eagle let out his call: kleek kik ik ik ik.At the same time. It's a long story. It would seem that every time I am with Indians, an eagle is here, flying over me, in flesh and feathers."

Motšėškevé'ho'é. nodded. "The golden eagle is regarded with great mystic reverence in all the Indian tribes, and you're blessed to have such a powerful animal protecting you."

Jim frowned. "Artie said he was a white eagle… and looked like a golden eagle because the sun was reflecting on his body."

American Knife nodded again. "White is a sacred color, Jim. It is the symbol of peace. The Great Spirit helped Artemus to bring peace in our band." He looked at Artie and added, "You're a sacred peace envoy." He placed the necklace he was holding around Artemus-Lone Wolf's neck, the pendant being made with sacred hawk and eagle feathers, silver plates, bear teeth and shells. "It belonged to Black Bear; it was the sign of the Chief. It's yours now, Ho'neohno'kaests," he said.

Looking down at the pendant Artemus said. "Thank you, American Knife." Then he looked up at the Cheyenne and added, "You need to prepare me for the ceremony of the dead."

The Medicine Man shook his head. "Not yet, before, you need to purify yourself, Artemus, I mean Lone Wolf, with a bath in the river and then a long stay, alone in the sweat lodge. The steam baths will get rid of any bad spirits that you could have encountered in your voyage without knowing it and which could have clung to you as a vessel to return to the land of the living to cause trouble, suffering, sickness, death and disease in our band. But don't worry, my friend, I will help you. I know protective chants and words which will disarm bad spirits and protect you – just in case."

Immediately Artie anxiously surveyed his almost naked body. "Bad spirits?"

American Knife added, "And the sweat is intended as a religious ceremony - it is for prayer and healing. You need to heal, Artemus."

His face somber, Artie sighed. "Both physically and mentally… If only it could erase all the bad memories from my mind…"

Placing a hand on Artie's shoulder the medicine man said, "I will be outside, sitting beside the sacred fire, singing prayers and songs. If you feel well, just call me. Sometimes people can't resist the overexposure to heat, and get dehydrated, or inhale too much smoke, leading to suffocation and death."

Artie rolled his eyes. "Just great!"

WWW

 _Later in the sweat lodge_

Sweating, Artemus took some water in a terracotta bowl and poured it again on the hot stones gathered beside the huge fire alimented with wood and sacred herbs. Immediately, new billowing clouds of steam enveloped him, mixing with the thick smoke, the steam cleansing his pores – and chasing away the possible bad spirits clinging to his body.

He was glad to have stuck his mask on his face with extra strong glue, resistant to everything, even steam and that his mask had micro-perforations so that his own skin could breathe and sweat, and it was so thin and supple that it allowed facial hairs to grow through, but he had to be extra-careful when he shaved in order not to ruin his mask and his cover at the same time.

Sitting cross-legged on the cedar covering the floor (used to exorcise evil spirits) he closed his eyes, shoulders dropped, arms slack and let his head rest on his chest. He felt completely relaxed, drowsy even, because of the intense heat and the spiraling smoke.

He remained immobile for long minutes, concentrating on his slow breathing – forgetting the world around him completely.

Oblivious to everything happening around him, Artie didn't see or hear a shadow entering silently the simple structure, constructed of saplings covered with animal skins... holding a long, narrow leather thong. He reacted only when the shadow wrapped it around his neck and tightened.

Artemus tried to grab the thong but it was too embedded in his neck, then he tried to elbow his assailant but as he couldn't breathe anymore, his strength abandoned him. His vision grayed, he convulsed with an inarticulate squeal and blacked out.

The shadow pushed the unconscious man forward, and then he kicked the fire, sending all the burning branches and embers all around the sweat lodge – which began to burn.

Shortly after, the shadow left the low profile, dome-shaped hut, as discreetly as it had entered it – glancing briefly at American Knife sitting beside the Sacred Fire, eyes closed and arms raised toward the sky, still absorbed by his prayers.

Standing half-hidden behind the horses, he watched with pleasure as the sweat lodge was now half engulfed in huge flames.

Soon after, the Cheyenne tried to put out the fire using animals skins filled with water and blankets but it was useless, the fire devoured everything.

Not seeing Artemus among the people around him, Jim understood that Artie was still inside the burning sweat lodge.

He threw himself into the fire, and managed to find his partner lying on the floor, unconscious. Coughing, he picked up Artie and slung him over his shoulder. He was breathing hard; the acrid fumes from the flames stung his eyes.

He left the burning sweat lodge just before it crumpled to the ground.

Coughing again and again he laid Artemus down on the ground, at his feet and felt a wave of worry rush over him. He took his partner's pulse. He found one, but it was rapid and erratic. "He's alive," he rasped, both relieved and concerned.

Artemus's breathing was labored. He suddenly coughed, coughed and kept coughing as he clamped down on Jim's arm, digging in. He coughed a last time, breathed deep and his breathing slowly went back to normal, soft and easy.

But he didn't regain consciousness.

Still coughing, his eyes watering, Jim finally noticed the reddened trace around the other man's neck. That wasn't an accident. Someone had tried to strangle Artie, he thought. Seeing American Knife kneeling beside Artemus, he pointed at the deep trace imprinted on his partner's flesh probably left by a leather thong. "It wasn't an accident. Someone tried to kill Lone Wolf," he said.

The Medicine Man nodded and said aloud. "Someone has tried to kill Ho'neohno'kaests – our new Chief." He stood up and looked at all the Cheyenne assembled there. "Who did this? Who? This is a despicable and cowardly act, unworthy of a Cheyenne. Show yourself!"

Shortly after, White Horse took a step forward. "I did it," he said proudly. "Ho'neohno'kaests is still alive, but next time I'll kill him."

American Knife shook his head. "There won't be another time. Lone Wolf and the council of elders are going to ban you from our band for what you did – and no other band will accept you. You won't be our new Chief, White Horse, Never!"

The powerful warrior smirked. "Fine. I'll find a place among my brothers, the not _tamed_ Indians. But before being banned I have the right to a last request, it's the law."

Motšėškevé'ho'é. nodded. "It's the law, yes. What is your request?"

White Horse pointed at Lone Wolf slowly regaining consciousness. "I want to fight in a duel with him. You can't refuse."

Upset American Knife sighed. "No, I can't."

The warrior grinned. "At sunset then."

The Medicine Man nodded. "But Ho'neohno'kaests – the one who has been attacked - will choose the weapon, it's the law."

White Horse nodded and left.

WWW

 _Later under American Knife's tepee_

Cringing American Knife shook his head. "I'm very sorry. I didn't expect White Horse to challenge Artemus to a duel. I had planned it with Red Tailfeather, later."

His brow furrowed with alarm Jim said, "He's going to kill Artie:"

Lost in his thoughts the Medicine Man looked at Artie lying on a blanket beside the fire, drinking a concoction to treat his aching throat, and then back at Jim sitting at his partner's side and holding his hand. "I know. My first intention was to give Artemus a powerful drug that puts someone in a state resembling death. He would have collapsed on the ground, as if dead, at the beginning of the duel with Ma'evoto, Red Tailfeather, as if struck by a heart attack." He smiled and added, "And I'll do just that tonight. Once Artemus is on the ground, inert, at White Horse's feet, appearing killed, I will declare him dead. He will be buried away from the Sacred Ground so that no one sees him come back to life… I will propose that Ma'evoto be our new leader, and the council of elders will approve. What do you think of my new plan, gentlemen?"

James nodded. "It's a good plan American Knife – but you have to make sure Artie collapses at the very beginning of the duel. Because White Horse really wants to kill Artemus, he won't play a game like Ma'evoto would have done."

The Medicine man smiled. "I will."

Artie cleared his throat and rasped, "I'm very interested in your drug American Knife. You do have an antidote I suppose?"

Motšėškevé'ho'é.nodded. "Yes, of course."

WWW

 _At Sunset_

Holding his tomahawk, wearing a fringed buckskin, Artemus-Lone Wolf raised his free hand and declared to all the Cheyenne gathered around the big bonfire, "I know that it's not the tradition, that our dead are buried in the Sacred Burial Ground on top of the hill, but if I die, I want to be buried along the Red River – a place where I played with my father when I was a boy, a place I always loved. That place will become then, a new Sacred Burial Ground where other Cheyenne could be buried. American Knife contacted Ma'heo'o, the Wise One Above, and the Great Spirit gave its consent."

Everyone looked at Motšėškevé'ho'é. who nodded. "Ma'heo'o did," he said solemnly.

Ho'neohno'kaests lowered his hand and placed it on his chest. He added solemnly, "It is my will and it will be respected."

The Council of elders nodded as a sign of approval.

His hand tightened around his tomahawk, wearing only his usual loincloth, showing his muscles and scars to impress his adversary (not succeeding) White Horse moved toward Lone Wolf, like a bear on its prey, ready to cut the other man into pieces.

Artie-Lone Wolf, raised his weapon, took a step forward and… let out a strangled cry. With a grimace and a grunt, he dropped his weapon to the ground and then collapsed like a ragdoll to the ground.

The Medicine Man hurried to the new Chief's side and touched his throat feeling for a pulse. Looking at the stunned crowd, he declared, "His breath of life is gone. He's dead. I was dreading it. He was almost strangled and inhaled a lot of smoke in the burning sweat lodge. His health was bad. His heart stopped in his chest because of that." He glared at White Horse beaming. "You finally killed him - indirectly."

Laughing White Horse threw his tomahawk, sinking it deep into the ground close to Lone Wolf's head. "He's dead, that's all that count."

He left, jumped on his horse and galloped away from the tepees.

WWW

 _Much later_

The Cheyenne buried Mo'ȯhtaenahkohe first, in the Sacred Burial Ground, then they gathered along the Red River to bury his son, Ho'neohno'kaests.

Gently, reverently, two warriors placed Lone Wolf's body into the hole dug on the ground along the Red River, then they joined the others assembled around the grave.

The Medicine Man, already standing in the grave tied Prayer feathers around the body of his last Chief, dressed in the traditional clothes, with a breastplate on his chest and three eagle feathers tied in his hair. He then opened the big bag he was holding and pulled out Lone Wolf's favorite possessions – the ones still intact after the fire: his bow, his tomahawk, his spear, a few necklaces and a couple of blankets. After that he placed a feathered prayer stick on Ho'neohno'kaests's chest and two terracotta pots on each side of his body containing traditional food and special herbs as gifts to the Spirits to ensure a safe journey to the after-life.

Then he finally covered the corpse with a painted buffalo robe.

Leaving the hole in the ground, American Knife nodded and all the Cheyenne began to fill the grave with handful of red clay.

A few minutes later, it was over. The medicine man planted a long feathered stick on the grave – marking it as the grave of a Cheyenne Chief.

The Indians dispersed and headed back to the settlement, located a few miles away on top of a hill, wondering who their new Chief would be.

Two persons stayed near the grave: Jim West and Motšėškevé'ho'é.

Once all the others were gone, no one being visible on the Great Plain anymore, they hurried to dig up Artemus Gordon aka Lone Wolf.

Laying Artie at his feet Jim watched while American Knife took out a flask from his medicine bag and brought it to his best friend's lips. He pinched Artie's nose forcing him to open his mouth to breathe and poured the antidote into his mouth. Artie swallowed automatically.

Faux-dead and faux-Lone Wolf opened his eyes a couple of minutes later and groaned. "Aaah… I really hate being drugged… my ol' noggin feels like it's full of tapioca. Oh boy! I don't feel so good, I'm gonna…." He rolled on his side and vomited. Once it was over he used all his strength to pull himself into a sitting position but failed, feeling as weak as a newborn kitten. "Oh boy…"

Smiling Jim and American Knife pulled him upright then helped him to mount Blackjack. Artie settled there and rested his head against the horse's neckline, eyes closed, gripping the mane tightly.

The Cheyenne gave James another bag he had attached to his belt. "It's a present for Artemus, with all my thanks. And thank you too, my friend. It's a flask of my special drug and a paper on which I wrote the ingredients and how to prepare it. I'm sure he'll appreciate… when he feels better. The effects of the drug should wear off in an hour or so."

Jim smiled. "Thank you. Artie will be pleased."

He placed a hand on Artemus's leg, looked up at the other man and said, "You saved my band in keeping the peace, Artemus. For that my band and I shall be grateful forever." He took out a necklace from his bag and pointed at the pendant. It was an eagle, wings spread, painted in white. "It's for you, my friend," he said, giving it to Jim. "Come back whenever you want to be in my band Artemus, you will always be welcomed." He looked at Jim then." And you too of course, Jim."

Jim smiled. "Thanks." He frowned. "I forgot that 'm here on the behalf of the Government, I have to stay here until the new Chief is chosen…"

American Knife smiled too. "Don't worry about that, I'll tell the others that you couldn't stay here any longer as the Great Father needs your help. They will understand." He moved toward his horse, resting a hand against his cheek. It was a beautiful pinto (tsévovó'hásėstse ) gelding with a bay coat with large white patches. He had arrows painted on his shoulders meaning that the horse was swift and agile and on his sides long zig-zag red (strength, energy) lines which symbolized lightning to add power and speed to the horse. He had a half-bay and half-white mane, four white socks and a white tail finishing in light brown color. He gave the reins to Jim and then looked up at Artie and added, "It's the horse you mounted when you were training with the short bow with the warriors. His name is Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse, which means Walking Horse. Contrary to his name, he doesn't only walk. He's the fastest horse of the whole Indian Territory. He's now yours, Artemus. I thought it was appropriate for you to have him as you are an adoptive Indian in two tribes – and friend of the Cheyenne. He's a good horse, quiet, steady and very strong."

The horse nuzzled Artie's head, as he blew softly against the man's skin, nickering quietly.

Jim smiled, "He likes you."

Half asleep Artie stared at the Cheyenne bleary-eyed, mumbling something inarticulate. Probably a thank you, the medicine man mused.

Jim frowned. "He's going to have two horses? Lockpick and this one, I'm jealous." Chuckling he took place behind Artie, holding him tightly against him. "Artie will mount Mo'eh… just Mo, when he feels better. We'll see each other again," he said to the Cheyenne.

American Knife nodded. "My pleasure. _Take care, and keep yourself safe, both of you._ A group of warriors will be waiting for you at Yellow Rocks, about 10 miles from here and will escort you back to your train safely. Thank you again."

Tbc.


	6. Act Three part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 **(Second assignment)**

 **Part one**

 _Two months later in the Wanderer_

 _Denver railroad yard_

 _In Artemus lab_

Looking at Lone Wolf's reflection in the mirror Artemus finally removed his wig – pulling at his hair in time with it and he hissed between his teeth.

He touched his own flattened hair, greasy and full of glue strands and grimaced, saying, "Artie, old boy you seriously need to wash your hair." Then, he brought his hands behind his ears then started to remove the mask covering his face and neck.

Once the mask was gone, he grinned very pleased to see his own face in the mirror. "Hello there." He dipped his fingers in a terracotta pot of hydrating cream and rubbed it on his forehead, his nose, the contours of his eyes, his cheeks and on his chin, moaning with pleasure. "Feels so good…"

His personage of Lone Wolf was dead and he mused: he would finally be able to leave the train without being insulted or being threatened with a gun by the locals.

He was finally able to go on a mission with Jim again instead of being forced to stay on the Wanderer for his own safety.

He finally would be able to go to saloons to have fun there and invite pretty young women to dinner in town or here on board the train.

He smiled. "But first, a shower – then a long relaxing bath. Then I will go to the galley and prepare some gourmet food."

He felt something touch his leg and looked down.

Marmalade was pawing his calf and she let out a demanding meow. "Yes, I will prepare gourmet food for you too, Marmie and for AG of course." And heard his cat start to purr loudly in response. He smiled, "And after that I will show Jim my newest inventions. He's going to love them."

Marmie leaped on the table and nuzzled her owner's face.

He kissed her head. "I missed you too."

WWW

 _Much later_

 _Artemus's lab_

Smiling proudly Artemus Gordon pointed at the rifle built with golden metallic parts and a black gun sitting on his working table. "James my boy, let me present to you one of my latest inventions," he said to his partner standing beside him. "As I was forced to stay here for almost two months while you were doing missions with Jeremy Pike, until my faux sun tan vanished and my mask could be taken off, I used that time to create this: it's a lightweight folding 'tranquilizer rifle'…" He folded it and unfolded it, then added, "You can fold it. It takes up less space that way, it is easier to transport and conceal, and I created a tranquilizer gun too." He smiled. "I kept this secret because I wanted to surprise you, I know you love guns and rifles…"

Running a finger along the barrel of the rifle Jim said, "They're beautiful." He took it and placed the butt against his shoulder pointing it at the ceiling. "It is light and perfectly balanced. It's a fantastic invention Artemus. Surely one of your best, with the bullet proof vest… and your assortment of bombs."

Placing his hand over his heart, Artie said, "Thank you." Then he added, "They both fire blank cartridges that eject tiny darts containing a powerful new sedative that put someone in a state resembling death, with no after effects and which is precise and predictable in its length of action.… does it ring any bells, James?"

Taking the gun and examining it Jim nodded. "Of course. You combined American Knife's special drug and Dr. Humphries aka the Falcon's drug."

Artie smiled. "Exactly, and doing it I created a completely new drug. I had to create a new antidote too of course, in case the person who is asleep needs to be wakened before the programmed end of the drug's action. But in that case, I suppose there will be some disagreeable after effects… like a great fatigue and not being able to feel one's own body..." He sat on his stool and added, "The dosage of the drug is very tricky, but I managed to make different types of cartridges with a colored rim: the blue ones have one hour length of action, the red ones, two hours, the green ones, three hours, and the yellow a ten hours length of action." He opened a wooden box containing dozens of ready-to-be-used cartridges and took out a blue one. He opened it and carefully removed the tiny darts. "See, it's tiny, and this drug is so powerful that a single drop inside the dart suffices to put a man down for one hour – in that particular case."

Jim was impressed. "That's fantastic, Artie."

Pleased, Artemus smiled. "Thank you, Jim. The dart is another invention of mine. It is made with a special chemical compound that melds once embedded in the flesh thanks to the body heat, releasing the drug almost instantaneously into the blood stream."

Fascinated by the folding rifle, Jim took it, folded it and unfolded it twice. "Great invention. Have you tried the sedative Artie?"

Artemus nodded. "Yes I did. I tested it on the mice you brought to me… it works. Speaking of the mice, the cats saw them after they woke up. They pawed the glass jars where I kept them so they couldn't escape… meowing loudly in frustration as they couldn't 'play' with them. Then, as they are very intelligent creatures, they pushed the jars to the floor where they crashed. The jars broke and the mice escaped… and they were instantly pursued by our cats purring with pleasure this time. Those poor mice had no chance. Marmalade brought me two dead ones in the galley. She was very proud of herself. But she didn't eat them. They're not gourmet food."

Jim nodded. "AG brought me three mice and laid them on my bed… He didn't eat them either. He's too accustomed to your delicate cuisine."

Artemus smiled. "Like his owner. I tried it on mice but I haven't tried it on people." He smirked. "How about volunteering Jim? Aren't you tempted by a one hour nap?"

Jim shook his head, took the dart his partner was still holding and looked at it, impressed. "Is the action of the drug immediate?" he asked, curious.

Artie nodded. "It's a matter of a few seconds…"

The younger man touched his partner's face. "Hey! I didn't notice it, but you are a Pale Face again. Artemus Gordon is back."

Artemus smiled. "Yes, I am, and I never left, it was always me behind the mask." He furrowed his brow as he felt something sting his neck.

He touched it for a split second and felt it vanish beneath his digit. He blinked. "A dart?" He noticed Jim's smug smile and groaned. "Jim, you didn't… you…" He felt suddenly very tired. He closed his eyes and his whole body went limp and his knees buckled beneath him.

Jim caught his best friend before he crumbled to the floor and slung him over his shoulder. He brought Artie to his sleeping compartment and gently lay him down on his bunk.

Jim shook his partner's shoulder and Artie didn't even stir. "Congratulations Artie, it works." He smiled and added, "It's just a little prank, buddy – and you needed to test your new drug on a human being. See you in one hour, buddy. Sleep well, have a nice nap." Then he left the room.

Once in the walkway he headed toward the parlor car. Artie would be like an angry bear when he woke up in one hour, and only one thing could appease him: a French dinner.

He put his gun belt on, his hat on his head and left. The best restaurant in Denver, "Le Coq Gaulois" proposed takeaway. A great idea with a promising future, he mused.

WWW

 _One week later in Artie's lab_

 _After their last assignment (TNOT Legion of Death)_

Smiling Jim placed the folding tranquilizer rifle on the table and said, "Here's your rifle Artemus. I went to recover it in the abandoned house where I had left it – well-hidden in a cache under the floorboard - after I shot you. I mean, after I shot Aaron Adison. Your powerful new sedative that put someone in a state resembling death worked like a charm."

Artie nodded. "Of course it did." He waved a finger. "That's the second time you shot me Jim… the first one was when you thought I was going to kill General Grant."

Jim nodded. "I didn't know who you were at that time and you were wearing a confederate uniform. You had a gun. For me you were a threat. So I shot you."

Placing his hand on his chest, where the bullet had hit him, Artie said, "But this time, by killing Aaron Adison, you saved my life. I'm sure there will be a third time, because things come in threes."

Jim nodded. "You forgot the time I shot you when Loveless had drugged me. That makes three."

Artemus shook his head. "No, it doesn't count – it was a hallucination. Now, if one of these days you really shoot me dead, I'll come back to haunt you. By the way, you said to me in the morgue, after I woke up, that the sedative had a slight overdose, but how is it possible? I made all my darts with a precise dose of drug inside. Overdose is impossible."

Jim cringed. "Well… it's your fault you know. All your boxes look alike and there are a lot of them, everywhere. I was in a hurry, you were going to be hanged, I found the folding rifle but not the box containing the darts, so I improvised, I made my own dart and I put a few drops of sedative inside…"

Sighing Artemus nodded. "Instead of one, that explains the _slight_ overdose and why you said to me that you were sorry. It was pure luck you had the right dosage with the antidote to sedate me for 10 hours." He left his stool and headed toward the shelves aligned along the wall. He pointed at a wooden box. "Look!" There was a white label on it with 'darts & syringes with 'andidote' written on it. "All my boxes are properly labelled. Unless you can't read, and it's not in your case, it's very easy to find anything." Crossing his arms on his chest, he shook his head. "Tell me the truth, the great James West who always keeps his cool panicked - that's why you didn't find the box."

Sheepish, Jim smiled. "Guilty as charged. Alright, alright, I was really worried for you and I panicked – I had 10 minutes left before they hanged you. That was pretty close."

The older man returned to his stool and continued to work on the new mask he was making, sewing fake hair on its top. "The next time, if there is a next time, try to be here at least 10 hours before I get hanged, Jim and not 10 minutes." He suppressed a shiver. "I never liked the gallows. I was really worried myself you know? I didn't know if you had received my message and if you you'd be here in time to stop me hanging…"

Jim patted his best friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I showed up as soon as I could."

Artie nodded. "You're forgiven." He pushed a piece of paper toward his partner and added, "A man from the Denver Bureau came here when you were gone, bringing me my new assignment and some explanations. So, I have a new assignment, not you. You, James my boy, will enjoy the pleasures of Denver while I, will play a Cheyenne warrior again. My mission is to infiltrate a group of rogue Cheyenne warriors led by my 'old friend' White Horse, attacking the farmers bordering the reservation to steal their cattle. It's a new provocation being a part of the rogue Indians' plan to start a war against the whites so as to have their ancestral lands back. When I have located the rogue Cheyenne's camp, I will tell Aenȯhee'e – Sitting Hawk, the leader of the council of forty-four, where they are so they can take the problem into their own hands - what they should have done a long time ago and I don't know why they didn't do it … Anyway, American Knife who wants to keep peace with the whites in the Indian Territory proposed a solution to Sitting Hawk. He told him what I did when I was playing Lone Wolf's character and Aenȯhee'e approved it wholeheardedly – and told the old Chief that it would be a good idea if I used my talents in another mission – and you know what it is. Sitting Hawk agreed and then American Knife contacted Colonel Richmond who contacted the President. President Grant assigned the mission to me because he wants to avoid sending troops into the Indian Territory as the situation is pretty volatile there… and because Sitting Hawk too wants to keep peace intact in the Indian Territory. There has been too much blood and tears already. Well, you know everything."

Jim nodded. "Almost. What's the council of forty-four?"

Pausing in what he was doing, Artie responded, "The council of forty-four is composed of older men who commanded wide respect. They are responsible for day-to-day matters affecting the tribe as well as the maintenance of peace both within and outside the tribe by force of their moral authority." He smiled. "I love undercover missions. It reminds me of when I was a spy working under General Grant's direct orders. Mmm… I need to make a new mask… But this time, I will make sure to be able to remove it after only a few days. What about Eše'henȧhkohe, Sun Bear as my cover name?"

WWW

 _Border of the Cheyenne reservation, two weeks later_

Lieutenant Baker raised his hand. "Halt!" he commanded, and all the troopers plus sergeant Sloane halted their horses.

Special agent James West halted his black stallion too.

Baker looked around him, followed suit by his men and said, "Be on your guard, Mr. West. Rogue Cheyenne warriors have been reported in the area; playing hide and seek with the patrols." He looked at Jim riding by his side and said, "You will find your partner in the area, I think."

Jim glanced around him: the place was barren, except for a few rounded rocks and bushes. There was a low hill on the right side topped with a couple of trees.

He sighed, very worried, a bad feeling squeezing his chest. Two weeks earlier, Artemus Gordon, his partner, disguised as a Cheyenne called Sun Bear had started his undercover mission. And he should have contacted Sitting Hawk by now. But he hadn't. Sitting Hawk, American Knife, Colonel Richmond, the President and he himself thought something bad had happened – without knowing what exactly – and Grant had ordered him to find Artemus.

Lieutenant Baker raised his hand again. "Let's move!" he ordered.

They had not galloped half a mile when they heard distinctive Indian screaming before seeing a group of a dozen Cheyenne warriors coming quickly down the hill... following another Indian who was heading toward them, his painted horse kicking up a trail of dust behind.

Several arrows whizzed past him.

The soldiers immediately stopped their horses and pulled their rifles out of their scabbards before pointed them at the Cheyenne.

Lieutenant Barked commanded, 'Do not fire! I repeat! Do not fire!"

Pointing his Winchester toward the leader of the Indians, Jim suddenly realized that the Cheyenne weren't shooting arrows at them, but were trying to kill the man riding in front - trying to kill him. The arrows were flying in his direction, not in theirs.

He saw the Indian collapse on his horse hit by an arrow in his back, but staying on it, grabbing the pinto gelding's long white mane in order not to fall to the ground.

Feeling color draining from his face Jim said, "Oh! No!" He recognized the bay horse with the large patches of white on his coat. "It's Mo!" and Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse belonged to Artemus.

WWW

Hitting the flanks of his stallion, Jim zigzagged between the bullets and the arrows raining all around him. He managed to grab the mane of the brown and white painted horse gelding and led the horse and his rider toward a group of rounded rocks.

Once there he leaped off his horse and caught Artie before he hit the ground and sunk to the earth with him cradled in his arms.

He grabbed his unconscious partner under the arms and dragged him behind a big rock and laid him on his side, on the ground noticing with dread that an arrowhead was protruding from his back.

He knelt beside the other man and gently, slowly, pulled him on to his lap. "Artie! You're safe now; you're going to be alright."

Mo nudged his owner with his nose.

The faux-Cheyenne opened his eyes, looked at his best friend and grimaced with pain. He coughed spitting blood and gave a weak smile. "Hello Jim… fancy meeting you here. You okay?" he whispered harshly. He tried to move but it ended in a sharp spike of agony through his back.

He yelped and closed his eyes before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Suddenly dozens of other Cheyenne warriors appeared, armed with bows and arrows too, coming out from behind the hill. The warriors who had tried to kill Artemus were outnumbered. They chose to run away in the opposite direction.

Immediately a large group of the just-arrived Cheyenne rushed to pursue them. The others headed toward the soldiers and Jim, bows lowered.

Jim noticed his Cheyenne friend amongst them. "Don't shoot! They're friendly Indians!" he said. He gestured toward American Knife. "American Knife! Here! I need help! Artemus is injured."

Dismounting his horse one minute later, American Knife crouched down beside Artie, took his knife and cut open his fringed buckskin tunic, revealing his bloodied back. He examined the wounds rapidly. "The arrow has pierced the thick muscle above the scapula and probably touched the bone beneath and narrowly missed his vertebral column. It was close. I just hope the arrow head is not embedded in it. It's serious, but not too serious. Removing the arrow is going to be very difficult because it has a barbed head. Transporting him to the settlement would worsen his condition. I'm going to have to remove it here, I don't have any choice."

Paling Jim nodded. "Okay."

Hearing that, Lieutenant Baker took the saddlebag containing the military field first aid kit and then joined them. He opened it and pulled out a flask of cheap whiskey for antiseptic, some dressings and bandages, scissors, a pair of needles and a spool of thread to stitch wounds and that's all.

WWW

 _Later_

Still wearing his mask of Sun Bear, bare chested, dressed only in his breechcloths, Artemus was laid on his stomach, on two blankets joined together (taken from two Cheyenne horses) next to a bonfire. The Medicine man knelt beside Artie and plunged the blade of his knife into the flames for a few seconds before sitting astride Artie's legs, immobilizing them that way.

Then he placed the sharp tip against the wound ragged at the edges.

Looking at Jim, placing his partner's shoulders firmly on the ground, pinning him, he said sadly, "The pain is going to be excruciating, he's going to thrash about. And I need him to be as immobile as possible, as I am going to operate." With his other hand he pulled out his leather belt and quickly shoved it in Artemus mouth to bite down on. Then Motšėškevé'ho'é.started to cut around the shaft, first just on the surface then deeper and deeper.

Groaning in pain, Artemus regained consciousness, twitching spasmodically. Sweat broke out all over his body. He bit the belt hard and tears rolled down his face as he felt something – a blade – he realized, sink into his back, cutting his flesh. He cried out and started writhing in white-hot pain, vibrating with tension. "Noooo… Stop! Oh G-God!"

But American Knife didn't. "Hold still, Artemus!"

Mo, distressed, shifted restlessly, lowered his head toward his owner's and nickered.

Jim rapidly and with a single hand gently pushed the horse out of the way. "He's going to be okay," he said. Keeping his position and applying more pressure on his partner's shoulders he added, "I'm sorry Artie, you're going to hurt, but we don't any other choice. American Knife is going to remove the arrow from your back." He grimaced as he watched blood welling up from the wound, covering his best friend's back, feeling bile building in his throat. He swallowed restlessly turning three shades paler until he pushed it back. "You have to hang on Artie. You can do it."

Artemus screamed, high and piercing, and the belt fell from his mouth as his body was hit with wave after wave of intense pain. He fought the two men pinning him down on the ground, trying to escape them, trying to escape instinctively from the pain.

He fought with his last remaining strength, his teeth gritted against the pain and it was hard for Jim and American Knife to hold him down.

He screamed again as he felt the Medicine man slowly cut his flesh around the arrowhead, to dislodge it, his body jerking and spasming.

The medicine man gritted his teeth. "It's not going to be easy to remove the arrowhead as it has a diagonal notch…"

Feeling himself weakening, Artie screamed again feeling the Cheyenne slowly pull the arrow out from his back, then he was sobbing brokenly. "Stop!" he pleaded. "Oh God, stop!" he croaked as his hands were opening and closing slowly, struggling for breath and whimpering quietly. "Plea… se." For an endless moment, nothing existed but the pain.

Then, finally, mercifully, he went limp as he passed out.

WWW

 _Later_

Once the arrow was pulled out, American Knife poured water from a canteen on his patient's back to clean it, and then he poured the flask of whiskey on the wound. Even unconscious, Artie flinched at the sting and let out a small whimper.

He pressed then on each side of the deep cut, took a dressing to dab the fluids pouring from it, then he used a needle and a long thread to stitch the wound shut. Finally, he placed a dressing on it, and bandaged the other man tightly.

He paused as he saw Jim move beside the unconscious man, crouching there. "I removed the arrow. Fortunately it wasn't embedded in the scapula and caused no permanent damage. The muscle is badly cut, yes, but it will heal with time. He will recover fully."

Relieved Jim let out a long sigh and said, "Artie's in great pain." His best's friend slack face was tinged with gray and his breathing labored. His whole body was soaked in sweat and shaken with tiny spasms. He brushed the sweat-soaked hair from the other man's brow. "It's going to be okay, Artie."

Suddenly a bird let out a cry and they both raised their eyes to the sky. A big golden eagle, the sun reflecting on his long wings, looking as if they were made of gold was flying high above them.

Smiling, American Knife placed a reassuring hand on Jim's shoulder. "He's going to be alright. Artemus's guardian spirit is here to protect him."

Intrigued, Jim asked, "What are you doing here?"

The Cheyenne glanced at the warriors who were with him. "I was searching for Artemus, like you, Jim. We were lucky to see them heading over here, without them seeing us. We were following them at some distance to intercept them on the other side of the hill. We knew they were pursuing another warrior. But we didn't know why and I didn't know it was my friend." He slowly rolled Artie on to his back then pressed two fingers against Artie's pulse. He found it fast but still strong under clammy skin. "He's going to be alright. He's strong and he'll pull through."

He lifted his hand toward the bright sun. The eagle was still there, circling them, he noticed. He closed his eyes and raising his arms toward the bright star he mouthed a prayer, asking Ma'heo'o, the Wise One Above to help the healing of Artemus Gordon.

Shortly after Artie moaned. With monumental effort, he got his eyes open and let out a long pained groan before gritting his teeth.

His entire body ached in excruciating pain, all his limbs protesting.

Grabbing Artie's hand in his, Jim said reassuringly, "I'm here Artie, you're going to be alright. American Knife removed the arrow and treated your wound."

He tried to speak, but it was hard. But he managed to, "Jim…" he croaked as he looked up at his partner through blurry eyes.

The Cheyenne nodded before placing his hand on Artie's chest. "You will rest in my settlement until you feel strong enough to leave. I will take care of you, Artemus."

Lieutenant Baker intervened. "No offense, American Knife, but Mr. Gordon would receive better medical care in the infirmary at the fort."

Before American Knife could say anything, Artie shook his head. "No… I want to go with my Cheyenne friend," he let out in a weak voice. "But not on a horse… traveling too rough… I'm hurting too much…"

The Medicine men looked at the Cheyenne warriors waiting on their horses a little farther away and asked two of them to build a travois. Two braves took their tomahawk and hitting the sides of their mount, they headed toward the closest tree. "He'll accompany us."

Jim looked up at the Lieutenant and said, "Go back to the fort with your men, Lieutenant, and tell Colonel Richards what happened here and that Artemus and I will be spending some time with American Knife in his settlement until Artemus recovers completely. Tell him to send a telegram to Colonel Richmond head of the Secret Service, in Washington."

Barker nodded. "Yes, Mr. West."

Tbc.


	7. Act Three part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT THREE**

 **Part two**

 _Much later in the Cheyenne settlement_

Lying on his side on a nest of comfy buffalo furs, Artemus slowly opened his eyes. He blinked twice, both disoriented and confused, wondering where he was and why he was lying on his side on buffalo furs with his back throbbing insistently and burning him.

Then he recognized American Knife's tepee (decorated with painted symbols of the eye of the medicine man) and images flooded his mind in a matter of seconds and he remembered everything.

Everything except his long ride on the travois. A least he had been unconscious on his way to the Cheyenne settlement. He hadn't felt a thing, he thought.

As he was cold, probably from the blood loss and fatigue, he rolled onto his stomach and tried to move toward the fire but a blazing pain in his back stopped him. He stayed there, wincing, gasping, panting, his whole body burning. "Ow! That hurts…" he let out.

He gritted his teeth as he began to very slowly, very gently roll on to his side trying to ease the pain, his right hand stretching to the fire to capture its warmth.

Artemus was still doing this when he heard the flap of the tepee open and Jim say sternly, "What the hell are you doing? Don't move again, I don't want you aggravating your injury."

Looking at his partner frowning disapprovingly at him, Artie chuckled. "Yes mom." Then he drew a sharp breath, fighting against the pain.

Kneeling beside his partner, Jim slid a rolled-up blanket beneath Artemus's head and said, "You're impossible!" Still very upset, he added, "I wonder if someday you will be able to complete a mission without being shot by bullets and arrows – and other projectiles. You nearly got yourself killed again! You had better not do it again, or I'll shoot you dead myself."

Smiling Artie said, "Silly… Good to see you, Jim. I missed you."

Calming down, Jim exhaled a long sigh. "I missed you too, Artemus. Speaking of being shot, I almost shot you, you know? When I saw the Cheyenne coming at top speed toward the patrol and me, I thought they were attacking us, and, as you were riding at the front, that you were the leader. I was ready to fire at you to defend myself when I realized that you were the one the Cheyenne were trying to kill. I didn't recognize you, but I recognized Mo."

Artemus smiled. "I'm glad you didn't shoot me. You already shot me 10 years ago after the siege of Petersburg, once is enough."

Smiling Jim nodded. "You almost died that day. Fortunately Dr. Henderson, the best surgeon in the Union army saved you."

Artie nodded. "Yes, and he saved your life at the same time, Jim. If you had killed me, General Grant would have shot you personally."

The younger man chuckled. "Oh I'm sure. I still have the bullet you know? The bullet that almost killed you, the bullet that Henderson pulled out of your chest, and that Grant gave afterwards – a souvenir of the first time we met Artie. If I hadn't have shot you, we probably would never have met. That's why that bullet is so precious to me."

Blinking tiredly, Artemus smiled. "A bullet is quite an introduction – very painful." He yawned and closed his eyes. "I met you after I woke up… and that was the beginning…of a wonderful friendship and the beginning of the adventures of Artemus Gordon and James West," He shivered suddenly. "C-c-cold." He said, through chattering teeth. "It was p-pure l-luck I c-came across you and the p-patrol. I thought I was going to die."

Immediately Jim pulled two blankets halfway up Artie's back, bare except for the bandage. "I was searching for you. I met Lieutenant Baker and his border patrol on my way to the Cheyenne Territory. It was pure luck that American Knife was searching for you too. He and his men made the other Cheyenne go away and saved your life. Arrows were flying all around you Artie – and if American Knife hadn't removed that arrow from your back, you'd be dead by now."

Artie yawned again. "Was lucky… Need to sleep…" he whispered, his eyes sliding closed as exhaustion swept over him.

Putting more branches on the fire, Jim looked at it and let his mind drift… He closed his eyes after a moment, the crackling of the fire acting like a lullaby.

He drifted off to sleep.

WWW

 _Later_

Jim was abruptly pulled out of his dream as American Knife placed his hand on his shoulder. Blinking, he looked up at the Medicine man. "I was dreaming about the past, remembering how Artie was marked by the eagle in the Comanche settlement… Is something wrong?"

The Cheyenne shook his head. "No, everything is alright. I came to examine Artemus's arrow wound." Then he knelt beside Artie, who was still sleeping.

He gently untied the bandage holding the dressing in place, lifted the dressing and observed the stitched puncture wound. It was oozing blood but there was no sign of infection. He touched the sleeper's brow finding no fever there. Satisfied, he put the dressing back in place and tied the bandage again. He pulled the blankets up to his patient's shoulders. "Don't worry, Jim. He's going to be alright," he said, noticing that he looked worried.

Jim sighed in relief. "That's good news."

American Knife sat crossed-legged beside the fire, "I have other good news. White Horse and his men were captured a few hours ago by Red Tailfeather's warriors. They are being escorted right now to the settlement of the Heévâhetaneo'o band, where the council of the forty-four will soon be gathered. Black Feather, one of the warriors who captured the rogue Cheyenne, and who was accompanying me a few hours ago when we met the border patrol, came back to tell me why White Horse had ordered Artemus to be killed. Black Feather was curious to know why, so he asked one of the prisoners, Sitting Buffalo. He told him it was because Eše'henȧhkohe, Sun Bear, Artemus's cover name - had refused to kill the farmer they had kidnapped after they had taken all his cattle – and, at dawn, this morning, he fled the settlement with him. They were chased almost immediately. The white man was killed very quickly and as for our friend here he was wounded by an arrow in his back, but it didn't stop him… You and I we know the rest of the story. Oh! And I know why Artemus didn't contact Sitting Hawk. Black Feather told me too, that White Horse and his men – Artemus included - had joined Kiowa and Apaches warriors to plan an attack in order to steal cattle on the other side of the border. They attacked a farm, stole the cattle and kidnapped the farmer…"

Jim nodded. "It's too bad the farmer is dead." He yawned, lay down beside Artie and closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he murmured.

Motšėškevé'ho'é.smiled. "Sleep, my friend, you need to rest." He watched Jim move closer to his best friend and take his hand in his.

Soon Jim was asleep, holding Artie's hand tightly.

WWW

 _The next evening_

Not wearing the mask and wig of Sun Bear anymore, his head surrounded by a red headband, Artemus moved beside the Sacred Fire, stopping in front of American Knife. He was wearing only a loincloth and he had the brother symbol depicted in a circle painted in red (symbolising blood) on his bare chest.

He could barely stand on legs like sodden cotton, was feverish and the wound on his back was hurting like hell with every move. If he were in Washington, in Dr. Henderson's hands, he would not be allowed to leave his bed for a week or two, but for the Cheyenne a warrior would have to be ready to ride and fight as soon as possible, he mused.

But he was a Cheyenne warrior and as such had to show no weakness, he thought. He met the medicine man's concerned look and said, "Ná-pėhévomóhtahe (I feel good), his voice dulled by pain.

Motšėškevé'ho'é nodded, both worried for Artie's health and proud that he was so resilient and worthy of his status as a Cheyenne warrior. "You're brave, Artemus."

The complete Cheyenne band was gathered around them. As for his friend, Jim was standing a little farther away, behind the group of elders.

Like the others he was watching the ceremony of blood oath, fascinated – and he was very proud too. His partner, best friend, and blood-brother would become a true Cheyenne warrior. He was the first in Cheyenne history and in the U.S. Secret Service.

Motšėškevé'ho'é, with the brother symbol painted in red on his bare chest too, smiled and said, "The ceremony is going to begin now. You have told the Chief and the elders your exploit and they found that the action was worthy. They agreed to reward you with an eagle feather. You deserve it, after what you did. As you know, it's a great honor to receive an eagle feather – only the bravest men receive one after a particular act of valor and bravery." He paused looking around him, seeing everyone nod in approval, and added, "Because the eagle flies high in the sky, its feathers have a special connection with the Great Spirit. And a Cheyenne brave wearing an eagle feather causes the Creator to be honored in the highest way. And… when a man receives an eagle feather, that person is being acknowledged with gratitude, love and ultimate respect." He bowed his head with deep respect, then looking again at the other man he continued, "But as only Cheyenne can receive an eagle feather, Red Tailfeather and the elders accepted my proposition: in becoming my blood brother you will automatically become a Cheyenne, then you can receive your eagle feather."

The Medicine man glanced at the new Chief, Ma'evoto, Red Tailfeather who nodded his agreement, and then at the elders, who nodded a 'yes'. Then he declared solemnly, "Tonight, Artemus Gordon, you will become a Cheyenne warrior." He took his knife and cut his palm.

He let his blood drip down.

Nonoma'evoo'xenehe (Thunder Crooked Nose), the oldest man of the tribe, placed a terracotta bowl under American Knife's hand to collect his blood.

Then Motšėškevé'ho'é. offered his weapon to Artemus who did the same thing, letting his blood drip down too. Placing the ritual bowl under Artie's bleeding hand, Nonoma'evoo'xenehe collected the future Cheyenne's blood in it.

Eye to eye, the two men pressed their bloodied hands together.

Chief Ma'evoto stood up, holding a leather thong and an eagle feather. He touched the side of Artie's head, running his fingers in his dark wavy hair and said, "You should let your hair grow. Cheyenne warriors have long braids, symbols of strength and virility."

Artemus chuckled. "I know, Chief, but Special agents of the Secret Service have short hair and nice tailored suits, not braids and buckskins. Look at Jim, he's the perfect example."

Red Tailfeather nodded. "I understand. But you're going to be a Cheyenne soon Artemus Gordon. Think about that. Now drink!"

Taking the bowl where his blood and Artie's had mingled, American Knife dipped his lips in the warm liquid, before licking them. "I take you to be my blood brother, you are now my brother, as if you had been born my brother," he said solemnly.

In his turn, Artie carried out his part in the blood-bonding ritual. "I take you to be my blood brother, you are now my brother, as if you had been born my brother," he declared.

His face solemn, the Cheyenne leader used the thong to bind the two men's hands together as a symbol. Then, taking the bowl he dipped one finger into it and using some blood, he completed the brother symbol painted on the two now blood-brothers. Once done, he said, "The line I drew connects the symbols of the men and it indicates that you are brothers and bonded together and that, from now one, you will share a journey through life. Now that your blood mixes, there are two bodies but only one blood in both of you." He paused, placing his hands on the two men's. "You are now blood brothers and a blood-bond can't be dissolved. You are one, in life and you will be one in death." He placed a hand on Artie's shoulder and then added, "Cheyenne blood flows in your veins. For the Tsétsėhéstȧhese, for the Cheyenne you are now one of us, and not one of the Wasichus (literally: Those-who-leave-the-meat) anymore. You are now a Cheyenne in your own right. You are a full-fledged member of this band."

Grinning, very moved by the honor done him, Artemus had to fight to keep his welling tears at bay. Cheyenne warriors didn't cry. He nodded, smiling. "Thank you. I shall show myself worthy." He said in perfect Cheyenne language.

Red Tailfeather nodded then slid the eagle feather behind the beaded headband, in Artie's hair. "American Knife suggested a Cheyenne name for you, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. It was chosen after your Guiding Spirit. Is that alright with you?"

Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse - White Eagle nodded. "Yes, it is. I'm honored."

Ma'evoto nodded too. "Good. That feather in your hair, symbolizes acts of courage and honor on behalf of this band, your band now, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse and as a gift of gratitude for all for that you did."

Moved to tears again, Artie couldn't resist this time and hurried to wipe his tears from his cheeks, raising his chin proudly.

Receiving an eagle feather from any tribe Chief was the greatest honor. Some warriors might be awarded only two or three honor feathers in their whole lifetime, so difficult are they to earn, he mused, and he had received one.

He looked at Jim, finding him smiling, being very proud of him, and then he bowed his head. "Hahóo. Thank you. I'm deeply honored."

Ma'evoto, smiled. "Welcome to this band, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse You are now a member of the Tsétsėhéstȧhese as we call ourselves and of the Sówoniá, the Southern People."

Smiling, Artie said, "Nátsėhéstahe, I'm Cheyenne."

Smiling too, Jim remembered like it was yesterday, Artie telling him, ' _Me no Cheyenne, me tame Indian'_ after he disguised himself as an Indian for an undercover role. It was during that assignment – in which they had to stop Cheyenne warriors led by American Knife from killing railroad workers of the Central and Western Railroad, five each day, and demanding $500,000 from the railroad before would stop – that Artie and he had met the Chief American Knife… and had discovered that the Indians were scapegoats for the series of railway killings and the extortion scheme. It had been the beginning of a strong friendship and lots of adventures. "Well, you're a Cheyenne now, Artie."

WWW

 _In the morning_

White Eagle rubbed the forehead of his pinto gelding that American Knife had painted with fire arrows symbolizing the strength of the warrior in order to honor him. "We'll be back home in a few days, Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse." He smiled as his horse huffed. "I know, it was great to be back here and you miss your buddies, but you'll see the whole country with me… We will have adventures you and I, and I will take good care of you, I promise."

The horse neighed and playfully nuzzled Artemus's hair. Artie rested his forehead on Mo's. The gelding shifted his weight and nickered softly.

Artie chuckled and brushed a hand down his horse's neck. "That's a good boy." The smile vanished a couple of seconds later when he winced. Then intense pain eased into a burning throb in his back, still bad, but finally tolerable, thanks to American Knife's medicine.

The Medicine man joined his blood brother and smiled. "Maybe I should have called you 'the man who talks to the horses'".

Artemus smiled. "Maybe. I had to talk to him in Cheyenne until he could understand English. People looked at me oddly. Now he's bilingual. Fortunately he and my other horse Lockpick get along very well. They are stable roommates."

Jim, holding his horse by his reins joined the other two men. "Ready to leave Artie? I mean ready to leave White Eagle?" He asked.

Artemus nodded. "Yes, Jim." He placed his hands on American Knife's shoulders. "I'm very proud to be your blood brother, and I promise you that I will show myself worthy in my future actions of my eagle feather and of being a Cheyenne warrior."

Motšėškevé'ho'é.hugged Artie, parted from the other man and said, "I have no doubt you will. I hope to see you again soon, brother."

Artie smiled. "Me too." He jumped on his horse, like a true Indian and took his reins in his left hand as he lifted the other one. "Good bye, American Knife."

The Cheyenne raised his hand too. "Goodbye, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse."

Jim nodded. "Goodbye American Knife," he said.

The two companions looked at each other, digging their heels into their mounts and they galloped away in concert.

The medicine man nodded. "Nėstaévȧhósevóomȧtse, (I'll see you again) he said.

Tbc.


	8. Act Four part One

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 **(Third assignment)**

 **Part one**

 _Two weeks later_

 _The White House, Washington D.C._

 _The Oval Office_

President Ulysses S. Grant gestured his companion forward. "Take a seat, Mr. West." As Jim complied Grant sat on the edge of his desk and said, "Colonel Richmond gave me Artemus's letter of resignation two hours ago. I can't accept it. Tell me what happened."

Still dumbfounded by the news, Jim shook his head. "I really don't know Sir. I can't explain it. And I'm sure he's not tendered his resignation because he's bored with being in the Secret Service – he loves it! Being in the service allows him to disguise himself, to be an actor again, to invent things, to experiment with them, and be a spy again sometimes, and he's a man of action and as Special Agents we have a lot of action. He loves what he's doing! I… I don't understand."

Grant nodded. "Then why? Did something happen during your last assignment?"

West shook his head. "No Sir. Nothing unusual. Our last mission to stop that counterfeiting ring was a success but a bit rough. Artemus ended up with a mild concussion and a nice set of bruises. He felt a little dizzy, felt a bit stiff and achy, had a light headache. It was nothing serious, otherwise Dr. Henderson would not have let him leave the hospital." He furrowed his brow and continued, "But when we came back to the Wanderer after the medical examination at the Military Hospital, he became distant, cold and quiet, the opposite of who he is, and that's unusual for him. He left for his lab. I tried to find out what was obviously bothering him but he said that he had a massive headache and wanted to be left alone. Nothing more. I went back to the parlor car to write the report and then I prepared dinner. Artie didn't join me. I thought that he was engrossed in one of his experiments, so I didn't disturb him. I ate alone and went to bed. This morning he was gone… and there was his letter of resignation sitting on the table. I took it and I headed for Colonel Richmond's office immediately, then he sent me here to talk to you, Sir."

Ulysses S. Grant nodded. "Did the two of you quarrel?"

Jim shook his head. "No Sir, Artie and I never quarrel, no, never. We tease each other from time to time, but it's not serious, it's a game we play for fun. I don't know what happened, Sir." He took a letter out of his pocket and reached out. "But I found a letter in the lab; it's addressed to you, Mr. President. Perhaps Artie wrote you an explanation of his inexplicable resignation." With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach he watched Ulysses S. Grant hurriedly open the envelope.

Grant pulled out the letter and his brow creased as he read, "Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come. William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar." Pale as a ghost, he added, "It has been an honor and a privilege to serve at your side. I left a letter for my mother and Harry and one for Jim in the drawer of the table in my compartment. I'm sorry, please forgive me, forgive me."

In a flash Jim knew what Artemus wanted to do and his stomach churned with dread. "He's going to kill himself! We have to find him!"

The door of the Oval Office opened and Dr. Stephen Henderson CMO of the Washington Military Hospital entered holding a file.

He was followed by Colonel Richmond, head of the Secret Service.

Raising his hand the surgeon said, "I know why Artemus Gordon decided to resign so abruptly. After his last medical examination, a nurse confused his file with that of another patient, dying of a rapidly degenerative, incurable and fatal disease. When Dr. Keller read the medical report to Artemus, Artemus was persuaded that it meant he would lose his senses one by one before losing his mobility and finally, his mind, and then die. He thought that he had only a few days left to live."

President Grant nodded somberly. "That's why he decided to kill himself – to avoid dying from that terrible disease. To avoid dying like his father did." The three other men in the room looked at him in total surprise. He nodded and added, "His father died from that disease – in a terrible crisis of dementia. It was awful. But he didn't see him die, he just couldn't. It was too much for him. His mother was at his father's side… witnessing all the agony… He was staying with friends when it happened. He was 16."

Jim nodded. "I understand now why he wasn't there when his father died. Why his father didn't see him one last time, didn't say goodbye to him…"

Grant looked at Jim and asked anxiously. "Do you have any idea where he could be?"

Jim nodded. "As he's quoting Shakespeare, he's probably in a theater, Sir."

Grant nodded. "Which one?"

Heading towards the door Jim said, "My bet is on the Grover's National Theater, where he gave his last performance before enlisting in the 7th Illinois Volunteer Cavalry Regiment."

Grant nodded as dread settled in his stomach. "Good thinking. Let's find him!"

WWW

 _Later in the Grover's National Theatre, a few blocks from the White House_

Running at top speed, Henderson, Richmond and Grant on his heels, Jim crossed the hall and pushed open the swinging doors leading to the auditorium and stage.

He made a bee line for the stage and stopped not far from it… not wanting to spook Artemus standing there. Then his mouth dropped open. "No…"

His best friend's eyes were closed, his shoulders slumped and… and the mouth of his gun was pointing towards his temple, resting against it, ready to pull the trigger.

He was immobile and his face was haggard with fatigue and almost white and he had dark rings under his eyes, Jim noticed.

He took a shaky breath. "God, Artie, no…"

Suddenly, Artemus said, his voice hoarse with deep emotion, "When he endures nothing but endless miseries- What pleasure is there in living the day after day, Edging slowly back and forth toward death? Anyone who warms their heart with the glow Of flickering hope is worth nothing at all. The noble man should either live with honor or die with honor. That's all there is to be said." (1)

Fear tightening his throat, Jim cried out, "Artie! You're nor dying! You're fine! Put that gun down!" Then he ran down the center aisle, jumped on the stage and leaped on Artemus, pinning him to the wooden floor. Grabbing his revolver, he threw it away from him. "I won't let you kill yourself!"

Eyes flashing with anger, Artemus pushed his partner backward. "Go away! Let me die in peace – while I'm still myself and not some weak and infirm man losing his mind." As the younger man was moving toward him, he punched him in his jaw, hard and he picked up his gun once more. "Stay where you are!" He took two steps back and pointing the six-shooter at Jim he said, "Don't move! I have to do this, okay? All I want is to die and I want to die alone. So go away!" He saw Henderson, Richmond and Grant move toward the stage, slowly. "Go away,! Go way, all of you! Let me alone!" He staggered as a wave of dizziness passed over him, and he stifled a curse. "Go away!" he repeated.

He cleared his throat and said, "To be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die: to sleep…"

He winced. His head was throbbing from a mild concussion. A sudden wave of nausea overwhelmed him and he panted for a moment, succeeding in settling it.

Seeing Jim move forward, slowly, he cocked the hammer of his Colt. "Stay where you are!" Then he continued to recite, "To die: to sleep…No more; and, by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub." (2)

He moved the gun upward, to his temple.

President Grant stopped in front of the stage, framed between Henderson and Richmond,. He glared at Artie and using his commanding voice, ordered, "Mr. Gordon! Drop that gun immediately!"

Looking down at the President the older agent lowered his Colt but didn't drop it. "I have to do it Sir, " he said. "I'm so very sorry, but I don't have any other choice. I don't want to die like my father did."

Grant frowned, raised one finger, lips pursed and boomed, "Now, _Major Gordon_ , that's an order! Don't make me repeat it."

Blinking, Artemus hesitated. "I-I… Sir…"

In a matter of 30 seconds, the President took the stairs leading to the stage, moved toward Artemus like a charging grizzly bear, entered his personal space and lifted his palm. "Give me that gun! That's an order from your Commander in Chief, Major. Give me that gun, now. Do it, damnit!"

Still hesitating, Artie took a step back. "No…"

Grant's expression softened, as he calmed down and changed tactic. Continuing to be aggressive would serve only to distress the other man more, he thought. "Artemus, give me that gun, please. Then you and I will discuss it, alright?" he added with a parental tone and the effect was nearly instantaneous.

Moving forward, Artie un-cocked the hammer of the gun and complied. Then he bowed his head, his shoulders slumped. His face crumpled as tears began to fall.

Grant heaved a long sigh of relief and gave the revolver to Jim who had just joined him on the stage. "Take this Jim."

Nodding, Jim let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Yes Sir." He slid Artie's gun in his waistband then he placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. "Artie, listen to me, you're fine. You're not going to die. That doctor in the hospital read the wrong medical report to you. It wasn't yours, but someone else's. You have just a mild concussion, it's nothing. You've had far worse." He took the other man in his arms and hugged him. "You really scared me Artie; don't do that again – ever!" He parted from Artemus and smiled. "You're okay buddy, you're okay." Seeing that Artie still didn't believe what he had told him, he added, "If you don't believe me, Artie, perhaps you'll believe the President of the United States."

Ulysses S. Grant placed a comforting hand on Artie's shoulder. Artemus was pale and drawn and he looked tired out – and was. "Jim is right. That doctor read the wrong medical report to you. You're alright. Come with me, Artemus, you and I need to talk," he said. Then the two men moved toward the rear part of the stage weakly lit by a couple of lamps.

Distraught Artie looked at his feet. His voice filled with emotion, he said, "I'm sorry, Sir. I was terrified. I never was so terrified in my whole life. I didn't want to end like that… to end like my father did. No, I don't want to die like that. Suicide was the only solution I had to escape… _that_. I told you what happened to him…" he turned to one side and almost dry-heaved, looking miserable.

Grant nodded and cupping Artemus's pain-filled face, gently, in a father-like-way, he raised it. "I know. But you won't die that way. You're not dying, Artemus, and I refuse your resignation." He pulled the other man into his arms and held him close.

Artemus buried his head on the President's shoulder.

Grant rubbed Artemus's back in soothing circles. "Let's move away a little." Then he led Artemus to the furthest end of the backstage area.

Henderson and Richmond joined Jim on the stage.

The head of the Secret Service let out a long sigh of relief and said, "Artemus is safe, thank God! That was close."

Still worried Jim ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Too close for my taste," he said.

Stephen Henderson nodded. "He's safe now, but he's not fine." Looking at Jim he added, "And I'm not talking about Artemus's aching ribs, collection of bruises, mild concussion and dizzy spells, but about his general state of complete exhaustion. The two of you piled up assignment on assignment for months without any rest. You're men, not machines. Artemus is 15 years older than you, Jim, that's why he is more affected than you. But you too need plenty of rest. I was about to order him two weeks' leave before Dr. Keller's error and all that drama. I'm thinking about a whole month's leave now."

Richmond nodded. "In that case I'm giving you a whole month's vacation too, Jim, so that you and Artemus can be together. I can't separate you. You're like co-joined twins, inseparable."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "Thank you Sir."

They looked at both Grant and Gordon. Artemus was talking and the President listening. After a long moment, they suddenly saw Artemus burst into tears and bury his face against the other man's broad shoulder, sobbing loudly.

Fighting to keep his own tears at bay Grant ran a soothing hand along the length of Artemus's back while he continued to talk to him, keeping his voice low, keeping what he said private.

Finally, after five minutes, the two men parted.

Seeing Artie coming his way, looking ill at ease, Jim smiled and asked, "Are you okay now Artie?" he saw the other man nod. "Good, let's go back to the White House, we need to escort the President there, and then we'll head back to the Wanderer."

Once more standing beside his best friend, Artie hugged Jim. "Thank you," and Jim hugged him back. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

WWW

 _Washington railroad yard_

 _Much later, on the Wanderer_

Holding a cup of coffee Jim placed himself on the edge of the gold plush sofa, looking down at Artemus lying on it, legs bent, head resting on a pillow, reading a book. "You alright?"

The older man nodded. "Yes I am, thank you." He closed his 'Application of Thermodynamics to Chemistry' as he was unable to concentrate on the book in his hand. Henderson had given him a potion to help him relax, he mused. But it also numbed his mind, leaving him unable to focus on simple tasks like making coffee, preparing food, reading…" He reflected. He sighed. "I'm really sorry Jim. I wasn't myself. I was so tired and emotionally distressed and focused so singly on how to put an end to my life that I didn't think about you, or about anyone else, actually. I didn't think about the devastating consequences my actions would have on you and on others, like the President and Lily for example. I was being totally selfish." He smiled. "Fortunately you were there for me. You saved my life, Jim. Thank you again."

Patting his partner's shoulder in an affectionate gesture Jim smiled. "You'll save mine next time. I'm glad you're okay now buddy." He paused and said, "When we were at the theater, the President told us, I mean, Colonel Richmond, Dr. Henderson and I what happened to your father – but no details. I didn't know about your father. I knew he was dead, but you never told me how he died."

The older man moved to a sitting position. He rubbed his forehead as a headache was building up there and lowered his head. Hunched over a little with his forearms on his legs and his hands dangling between his knees, he said, "It was terrible. My mother and I… we did what we could to help him… but it was hopeless. He died a horrible death… He died from a rapidly degenerative and incurable disease. He lost his senses one by one before losing his mobility and finally, his mind. He died in a terrible crisis of dementia. My mom was here, at his side. I wasn't. I couldn't. It was too much for me. I wasn't at home that terrible night." He paused, trying to keep welling tears at bay. "When I saw him the next morning… he was lying on his bed. He was dead… he looked peaceful…

he-he had found merciful peace…" Tears began rolling on his pale cheeks.

Shaken, Jim was pale too. "I'm sorry…" He trailed off, his partner's distress breaking his heart. "I don't know what to say…"

Clearing the large lump stuck in his throat, Artemus breathed deeply and continued, "When the doctor told me I had that disease, I felt devastated. After the shock of that terrible news was passed to me, I immediately thought it was hereditary: my father had it, it was my turn to have it. He was my age when it started. Everything matched. I didn't think for a second that the doctor was reading the wrong medical report." He rubbed his stubbled jaw tiredly. "I was going to die like him… and it was out of the question… There was only one solution to avoid that." He cleared his throat and attempted to steady his voice. "Suicide."

Placing a hand on Artie's knee Jim smiled. "You're fine Artie. You're just exhausted, and I am too, that's why you have been granted a long medical leave and I a long vacation. What about going fishing in the Rockies? You could try your new fishing rods. I love grilled fish ever since we were stranded on that desert island. I will take care of all the equipment necessary for camping."

Eyes red and puffy with exhaustion, contrasting with the grey pallor of his face, Artemus smothered a huge yawn, feeling groggy and he slurred. "Not bad idea… I think I'm gonna take a nap… I can't keep my eyes open… any longer. That potion is a mild sedative too… " He didn't finish his sentence, watching as the room started spinning languidly. He rolled into a ball on the sofa with what strength he had left, turning his back to Jim. His eyes fluttered closed, he gave a little snuffle and fell fast asleep within seconds.

Sipping his coffee Jim stood up, took the coverlet on the other sofa, back to back to the one Artie was sleeping on and covered his partner with it. "Sweet dreams, Artie."

Then he headed toward the galley to prepare dinner – or close to something approaching it, he mused with a grin.

WWW

James West came back to the parlor car half an hour later, ready to lay the table as dinner was ready - and was very surprised to find President Grant sitting at the table, smoking a cigar. Artemus Gordon was sitting opposite him, one elbow on the table, his head resting on his hand. His partner was squinting tiredly, bone-weary lines hollowing his face, doing his best to stay awake.

He blinked. "Mr. President, Sir? Is there a problem?" he asked.

The President nodded. "Yes, that's why I'm here. Sit down, Jim!" He took a short drag of his cigar, annoyed, and puffed out a breath of smoke while the younger man complied. Looking at Artie, he said, "Stephen Henderson is not happy – and it's an understatement – to rescind your medical leave…" then he looked at Jim, "And your vacation, but I need your help again, gentlemen." He looked back at Artie and continued, "And I need someone who speaks the Cheyenne language fluently…"

Suddenly more awake than before and worried about his Indian friends Artemus asked, "Problems with the Cheyenne, Sir?"

Grant nodded." Yes, big problems. The Southern Cheyenne and Arapaho protested last month about shortages

of government rations, the result of the predations of a corrupt Indian agent, and threatened to go back to their ancestral homelands to live life as they always had and chase the white men away, which would result in heavy losses on both sides. I couldn't accept that, so I urgently gave orders that cattle be brought onto the reservation, for all the Indians, and not just for these two tribes. I did this to prevent other tribes from complaining as well and also in order to guarantee peace in the whole Indian Territory." He took a big puff of his cigar and released the smoke. "But recently, thousands of head of cattle which were given to the Indians are being grazed illegally by white Texan cattle thieves, breaking the law by crossing the borders of the Indian Territory. The Indians are furious and believe that I am taking the cattle back to let them die of hunger. The army is fearful of a more than possible outbreak. Lots of Indians are preparing to leave the reservation to recover the stolen cattle – by force resulting in heavy losses on both sides, among the Indians and the whites."

He paused, his left eyebrow twitching nervously, and looked at Artemus. "I want you to meet with the Cheyenne Chiefs who have decided to gather in the reservation in a place called Black Rocks, to discuss the situation and take decisions. I want you to tell them that they will receive everything necessary, livestock, supplies, etc. to keep them alive and that I will put an end to the stealing of their cattle and the killing of the buffalos – it's a promise from the President of the United States - and do everything you can to prevent a new war. You will leave for the Indian Territory at first light." He pulled out two letters from the inside pocket of his jacket. "The first letter contains my detailed promises to the Cheyenne Chiefs and the second one is your mission order, signed by me, giving you carte blanche for your assignment. The Army – namely Colonel Jackson of fort Donaldson and all his men will be at your service. Give him this letter. It's addressed to him."

The President put the letters on the table, stood up and added, "Be very careful gentlemen, war parties amongst the Cheyenne and some people in the Army want a new war – they don't like peace and they want to avenge their friends or family or both, killed in the previous conflicts. They both might want to prevent you from succeeding in your mission – I mean, eliminate you."

Nodding, Artemus stood up. "We'll be careful; Sir, and we will succeed."

Grant moved toward Artemus and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Take care, Artemus." Then he looked at Jim and said, "You take care too, Jim." He headed toward the door, opened it, pivoted and said, "I look forward to hearing some good news from you soon, gentlemen." Then he left.

Once the door was closed and the President gone, the two men looked at each other – worried. They both moved toward the nearest sofa.

Artemus hunched over, touching the back of his head where he had been hit 24 hours before and gave a small, pained grunt. His head wound wasn´t too serious, but the concussion though mild, was . He scrubbed at his eyes, lay back against the backrest, and, looking at Jim he sighed and said, "It's probably the most difficult assignment we have ever had, James-my-boy, and the most dangerous too."

Jim nodded. "You're right. Perhaps we should ask American Knife's help. He's a well-respected man among his tribe. He could introduce us to the Cheyenne Chiefs and facilitate the talks – and Red Tailfeather and his warriors would protect us too."

Beaming Artie said. "That's a very good idea! I'm going to see American Knife again and all my friends. I'm so happy!"

Jim smiled. "I'm sure they will be pleased to see you again, and American Knife especially as he's now your blood bother."

Artie looked automatically at the scar on his palm, where he had cut his flesh to become American Knife's blood-brother. "I know. I am Artemus Gordon, a white man, an agent of the Secret Service and I am also an Indian, a Cheyenne warrior called Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaestse, White Eagle."

Jim smiled. "A unique man."

Tbc


	9. Act Four part Two

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 **Part two**

 _Five days later, in Red Tailfeather settlement, Indian Territory,_

Artemus Gordon, was mounted on his pinto horse (tobiano), a beautiful gelding called Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse, he just called Mo, and dressed in his Cheyenne clothes: shirt, breechclout, and leggings and moccasins, his eagle feather in his headband and a knife in his belt. He entered the settlement, closely followed by James West mounted on his black stallion.

The two men stopped their mounts in front of the Chief's tepee.

Immediately, a group of a dozen warriors holding spears encircled them – smiling and letting out cries of joy as they were pleased to see White Eagle, again.

Artemus rapidly dismounted and was welcomed with hands touching his shoulders, his arms and his chest in a friendly way. Smiling, Artie returned the gestures, very happy too to be with his Indians companions he hadn't seen for three weeks.

Ma'evoto - Red Tailfeather exited his tepee as Jim dismounted. Artie bowed his head respectfully and said in Cheyenne, "Hello, it's a pleasure to see you again, Chief Ma'evoto."

Red Tailfeather smiled. "It's a pleasure to see you, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse."

Feeling a hand land on his right shoulder Artie pivoted and grinned as he discovered American Knife standing at his side. "American Knife!"

The two blood-brothers hugged for a moment, then after they parted, American Knife reached out to cup the back of Artie's's head and drew him closer until their foreheads were touching, in a bonding gesture. "I missed you a lot, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse."

Nodding, White Eagle said, "I missed you a lot too, Motšėškevé'ho'é."

They parted again, smiling.

The medicine man spoke first, in English, "I'm pleased to see you again, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse." He looked at Jim. "I'm pleased to see you too, James. But you're not here on a courtesy visit, are you?"

Artie shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not, regretfully. Jim and I have to meet the Cheyenne Chiefs gathering at Black Rocks. We have a letter from the President to read them. President Grant promises that the Cheyenne will receive everything necessary, livestock, supplies, etc. and that he will put an end to the stealing of their cattle. We are here to prevent a new war."

Placing a hand on Artie's arm, American Knife shook his head. "It's not going to be an easy task, brother. People in the different bands of Cheyenne are hungry and sick and very angry and ready to go on the warpath. A large part of The Cheyenne, and I'm not talking about the warriors only - want to kill the white people who are stealing our cattle. I sincerely hope that the words of the President will appease them – but I doubt it."

Closing his eyes briefly, Artie rubbed his temples tiredly. "We need your help, you and Red Tailfeather. We need you to introduce us to the Chiefs so we can talk to them, so I can read the President's letter, tell them his promises. Promises he will uphold. He's a man of honor. I have known him a long time, served under him many years during the war. He wants peace among our peoples more than anyone. I speak for him when I assure you that his promises will be honored."

The Medicine Man nodded. "I know." He moved toward Ma'evoto and then in Cheyenne told the Chief what the two agents' mission was.

Feeling suddenly weak in the knees and seeing stars in front of his eyes, Artie felt himself falling sideways, but caught hold of his horse's bicolored mane, and managed to stay standing with what little energy he had left suddenly leaving him.

Everything blurred.

In a flash Jim hurried to his partner's side and immediately wrapped an arm around his waist, holding him, preventing him from crumpling to the ground. "Artie!"

Artie gave Jim a reassuring smile. "It's nothing, don't worry, it's just another dizzy spell. It'll pass in a few seconds." It took several seconds, but the dizziness finally started to pass and he blinked trying to get his vision to clear.

He parted from Jim, lurching to one side. "I'm okay…"

Jim furrowed his brow in deep worry. Artemus looked more exhausted by the minute.

Frowning in worry too Motšėškevé'ho'é observed Artemus's face which was slack and gray and covered in sweat. He noticed that his eyes were dull and lifeless and lacked their usual spark and his whole body was trembling. Telltale signs of complete and utter exhaustion, he realised.

He nodded and said, "You look dead on your feet. Let's go into my tepee, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. I need to examine you," he said.

Feeling his head growing light, Artie shook his head, the shivering becoming worse. "No, I'm fine," he said waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

Ma'evoto who had noticed White Eagle's state of exhaustion commanded in Cheyenne, "Follow American Knife to his tepee and obey him."

Flinching, Artemus almost stood to attention. "Yes Sir."

His head swam and his heart thundered up into his throat. His stomach lurched sickeningly, His knees buckled, throwing him onto his hands and knees where he vomited.

Then his vision blacked out and he fell into blissful nothingness.

WWW

 _Later_

Once Artemus was laid on a nest of comfortable buffalo furs, his pendant (an eagle with its wings spread, painted in white) resting on his bare chest, the medicine man began a medical survey of his patient's body, probing it with gentle hands, nodding from time to time.

American Knife noticed the numerous large colored bruises that marred the other man's chest and abdomen making the rest of his skin seem unhealthily pale and he winced in sympathy. "You should be in a hospital, Artemus, not here, with us," He said.

Artie smiled. "I was lying in a hospital bed not too long ago in Dr. Henderson's clutches. I'm just tired, that's all. It's nothing. Jim and I have a vital mission – that's important! We can't afford to lose any time… It was just a dizzy spell, I've had worse."

The Medicine man nodded. "I'm sure, but being in a state to accomplish that mission is important too. And for now, you're not. I'm going to take care of you, brother – We have time. The gathering won't happen before the full moon, in four days. By then, you'll feel in better shape."

Shaking his head, Artemus propped himself on his elbows then moved to a sitting position, grimacing. "I'm fine…There are a lot of things to… I haven't finished speaking to… I need to…" he slurred, his body heavy with sleep, fighting to keep his eyes open.

Motšėškevé'ho'é.put one hand on Artemus's chest, the other on his back and lowered him down on the bed of furs, gently. "Here, stay on your back and relax." But Artie shifted restlessly and tried to prop himself up on one elbow, but he couldn't quite find the energy to do it.

The Medicine Man frowned and waved a stern finger. "In this settlement, in your band, you're no longer a white man, Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaests, but a Cheyenne, a warrior, and as I am the ma'heónėhetane (medicine man), the spiritual leader of this band, you have to obey me."

Artie made a disgruntled noise and looked up at Jim for help, but Jim sitting next to the fire said, "American Knife is right. Be a good Cheyenne Artie – I mean White Eagle – I'm sorry but I can't pronounce your Cheyenne name unless it's in English - and obey the Medicine Man."

Giving James a black look Artemus groaned in pain as American Knife began to probe aching, (fortunately not cracked), ribs then his abdomen. It hurt badly enough to bring tears to his Artie's eyes and he quickly wiped them away.

Cheyenne warriors don't cry, he thought.

American Knife then probed Artie's head and quickly found the painful zone as his patient let out a cry. "What happened to you?"

The older agent was so tired that all he could manage was some sort of grunt. He put his head in his hands and closed his eyes.

Jim smiled and said, "The usual, someone used his ribs for a punching bag and another man hit the back of his head with the butt of his gun – hard. His ribs hurt and as he has a mild concussion, he has headaches and sometimes, dizzy spells."

The medicine man nodded. "You will heal, with time, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. But first, you need to regain some strength – and for that, you need to sleep. This is the best way." He took the terracotta bowl sitting beside him on the blanket and brought it to his patient's lips. "Drink! This herbal potion will make you sleep, profoundly. During your sleep your body will begin to heal itself." Artemus swallowed the greenish, bitter potion. "Good! Now close your eyes and relax."

Artemus finally sank into sleep. He slept for a full twenty-two hours in a row.

WWW

 _Two days later_

It was nearly midday when Artemus blearily opened his eyes and stretched like an oversized cat on his bed of furs, feeling rested, while looking around him. He was confused and disoriented for a couple of seconds and then remembered everything.

Pulling himself into a sitting position, he yawned then rubbed one of his eyes with the side of his hand like a child, his empty stomach growling.

Beside the fire, he spotted a terracotta plate filled with two grilled corn cobs and several big pieces of unidentified meat and devoured everything.

His breakfast taken, he stood, swayed a little and put his shirt on. Then he put his headband on his head, slid his eagle feather in the back and slid his knife in his belt.

He exited the tepee, surprised to see everyone – the whole band – more than 100 people gathered in front of Ma'evoto's tepee.

The Cheyenne Chief was very angry, and pointing down at two warriors, kneeling on the ground, head bowed– explaining to everyone gathered there that the Cavalry was enroute for the settlement and that the soldiers would be here within half an hour.

Puzzled, he spotted Jim and American Knife standing at the edge of the crowd and joined them. "What's happening here?"

The Medicine man nodded sadly and said, "Two warriors, Red Dog and White buffalo – the men kneeling at Red Tailfeater's feet, have hurt a group of white men stealing a dozen steers near the Red River, this morning – in our territory. They didn't attack first, but a detachment of cavalry is enroute to our settlement. Scouts saw a group of soldiers near the big round rocks. The white men probably told Colonel Jackson at the fort they were attacked with no particular reason while riding along the border – keeping silent about what they did to avoid prison, because stealing what belongs to us is forbidden by the law." Reading fear on several of the womens' faces and seeing them clasp their equally frightened children, protectively against them, he added, "Women and children are scared, fearing the soldiers will kill everyone in retaliation, as it has happened before, and the warriors are ready to defend the settlement. I fear bloodshed."

Jim sighed. "That's bad, Artie." He took his partner by his shoulders, pleased to see that Artemus's face had regained color and that the older man looked rested. "You okay?"

Nodding Artemus took a step back. "I must stop the soldiers before they come here and a trail of bloodshed starts with the Cheyenne." In Cheyenne warrior mode, he instinctively grabbed one of the spears leaning against a makeshift rack and then ran at top speed to the place where the horses were gathered.

Raising his hand Jim said, "Artie, wait! Don't do that! You're dressed like a Cheyenne and you have a spear. It's too dangerous! The soldiers could kill you – taking you for a threat!" But Artemus was already mounting his pinto horse bareback.

Mo surged beneath his owner and galloped away.

Jim frowned. "Damn!" then he ran in his turn toward the horses. "Wait for me!" He followed suit, urging his black stallion, Blackjack, to gallop as quickly as he could. But he never caught up with Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse, who was as fast as lightening.

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The pinto horse was fast and Artemus determined to reach the soldiers before the Cheyenne warriors started to shoot arrows at them.

Mounted on Blackjack Jim was riding rapidly too, patting Blackjack's straining neck with one hand, while urging him onward. "Come on, faster! Faster!"

But Artie was galloping at top speed ahead. "Artie! Stop!" he screamed at the top of his lungs, over the sound of the galloping horses.

But Artie didn't hear his cry. He didn't notice his partner following him either, single-mindedly on his task: prevent a confrontation between the soldiers and the Cheyenne warriors.

He suddenly pulled up as he saw a column of blue soldiers cross a river and then he hit the flanks of his pinto horse, heading toward them.

Lieutenant Lewis raised his hand. "Halt!" he said, watching two horsemen coming at top speed towards his men and him.

The first one was a Cheyenne mounted on a painted horse, holding a spear. His skin was white and he was surprised for a couple of seconds, and then thought that the warrior had painted his body in white. War paints, he decided.

The second rider was a white man, riding a black horse which was lathered with sweat, dressed in a blue suit, he noticed. He was pursuing the Indian… who was trying to attack his detachment, trying to stop him. He was probably one of the men the Cheyenne attacked. He had decided to pursue the warriors to avenge his friends. And now one of them was heading his way… He thought.

He turned toward Sergeant Hill flanking him on his right. "Sergeant! Neutralize that Indian! But don't kill him. Colonel Jackson doesn't want us to kill any Indians."

Hill pointed his riffle at the Cheyenne, took his time to adjust his target and fired. A split second later Artemus slammed into the ground with bone cracking force and tumbled down, rocks and bushes, branches scraping his skin, tearing at his clothes, his flailing limbs smashing into the ground, hard. A large rock on the ground connected with the side of his skull.

Seeing that, Jim felt his blood freeze in his veins and kicked Blackjack's side, commanding the horse to accelerate.

The pinto gelding slowed from a gallop, came to a halt and then moved toward his master, lying eagle-spread next to a bush.

Hill smiled proudly. "Got him, Sir, he's not a threat anymore," he said. "I didn't kill him, Lieutenant,… I think." Then he let out a chuckle.

The only good Indian was a dead Indian, he thought. If he were dead, he could always say that he had missed his shot ... claim he had aimed at the horse ... He grinned.

Lewis nodded. The Indian was no threat anymore. He could resume his way toward the Cheyenne settlement he should reach it in half an hour. "Alright, sergeant." He lifted his hand. "Let's move!"

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Dread gripping his heart Jim dismounted in a flash and bolted towards Artemus's inert form. He sank to his knees next to his unconscious partner, surveying his battered body.

No bullet holes, but Artie's face was scraped and smeared with dust. It was covered in blood too, oozing from a graze at his left temple, down to his neck, and staining his buckskin shirt. The wound was fortunately superficial, but it was bleeding a lot and it would hurt though, he thought – looking at his poor head, noticing a bump just under the graze. "Thank God," he sighed, body slumping in relief. He rested his forehead against Artie's and said, "I told you that you could get killed, Artie! You're a fool! Why are you so damn emotional?"

Slowly, Artie opened his eyes, his head ringing and his vision fading in an out. "Wha… h'pned?," he slurred struggling to stay conscious.

Jim raised his head as he heard the detachment of cavalry approach. "You were shot at, again. Soldiers took you for a Cheyenne."

His head swimming, Artie groaned in pain and touched a finger to the rising lump on his temple, felt blood under his fingertips and breathed out, "I am… a Cheyenne." Then he passed out.

Jim glared at the Lieutenant and growled. "Why did you shoot?" Clenching his jaw in anger he lifted Artie's limp head, gently. "Look at him! He's no Indian! He's my partner, Artemus Gordon! We're both Special agents working on assignment for President Grant. It's fortunate for you that you didn't kill him, Lieutenant. Grant would have had you court martialed and put in prison for the rest of your life!"

Lieutenant Lewis paled and stammered. "I did… I-I didn't know Sir. He-he looked like an Indian: the clothes, the feather in his hair, he had a spear… I thought he had painted his face with white war paint, you know. Indians do that and he was riding a painted horse like Indians do. I'm terribly sorry, Sir."

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse lowered his head and sniffed at Artie, still unconscious. Then, he butted him in the side trying to rouse him.

He huffed in worry.

Jim gently slapped Artie's pallid cheeks in an attempt to revive him. "Come on buddy, open your eyes." But he saw no sign of a response.

Patting the painted horse high on the neck Jim said, "He's not going to wake up any time soon, Mo." Then he lifted Artie's limp body in his arms and settled him over Blackjack's saddle. He used his rope to secure Artemus and mounted the pinto gelding.

Hearing a cry coming from above, he lifted his eyes and saw an eagle circling high in the sky. It was Artemus's animal spirit – protecting him.

And he just did, Artie's still alive, Jim thought.

Looking at the young officer, he said, "Go back to the fort!" He pulled out a letter his from his inside pocket and reached out with it in his hand. "Give this letter to Colonel Jackson. It's a letter from the President with our mission orders. Don't lose it!" Once the Lieutenant had taken the letter, he added, "And tell the Colonel to arrest the men who went to the fort to report the incident with the Cheyenne. They were stealing cattle in Cheyenne territory when it happened. The Cheyenne defended what belongs to them."

Lewis nodded. "Yes Sir."

Jim grabbed both sets of reins and kicked the sides of Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse, riding away.

WWW

 _Later, at the Cheyenne settlement_

Red Tailfeather crouched beside Artemus, who lay before him, , on American Knife's blankets and furs bedding, wearing only his loincloth.

He gently touched the graze crossing his left temple, no longer bleeding, but with the skin around it puffy and turning a reddish hue. "Éoné'seómė-hetaneve, he is brave," he translated. "Thanks to his action, the soldiers left and calm returned. No one was hurt – except White Eagle, or killed." He looked at the medicine man starting to prepare an herbal antiseptic and fast healing salve to put on the numerous scratches, abrasions, bruises and cuts covering Artie's whole body. "Heal him, Motšėškevé'ho'é. He will accompany me to the Chiefs gathering as a member of my group, as a warrior. He will talk to them, read the letter from President Grant and convince them not to go on the warpath." He stood and added, "Before you leave the settlement, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse will receive another eagle feather for his act of bravery on behalf of his band. Tell him when he wakes."

American Knife nodded. "He'll be ready and I'll tell him."

Red Tailfeather looked at Jim and said, "You won't accompany us, James, because you're not a Cheyenne. Only Cheyenne can attend gathering of the Cheyenne Chiefs . White Eagle is a white man, but he's American Knife's blood brother and a member of his band – he is a Cheyenne warrior."

The Chief left the tepee and then American Knife looked at Jim kneeling beside Artemus. The younger man looked anxious. "He'll be safe, don't worry. He'll be with the best warriors of the band – and I'll be there too. I'll protect him." He placed a hand on Artie's shoulder. "What White Eagle did a couple of hours ago was very brave and very foolish too."

Sighing Jim nodded. "It's all Artemus Gordon." He took Artie's limp hand in his. "It's a miracle he's still alive, but he's badly hurt."

American Knife dipped his fingers in the salve and ran them over the unconscious man's neck and shoulders crisscrossed with bloodied lines. "He was lucky; he could have broken his neck."

Sitting cross-legged next to the fire Jim nodded. "And could have been shot dead before that!… Is he going to be alright?" Artemus was covered with sweat, his face white. His lips were dry and cracked, and his usually wavy dark hair was flat and plastered to his forehead.

The Cheyenne shook his head. "I don't know, James. If he crashed to the ground as hard as you told me then it can have aggravated his concussion. I'll tell you once he's awake – not for hours yet." He wiped his fingers on a cloth and took a needle and thread from a pouch. "As for his wound, it's deep but not serious. He lost only a little blood, but it needs to be stitched."

Once Artemus's stitched graze was glistening with the salve, like the rest of his body, American Knife wrapped the other man in a large blanket.

He sat cross-legged too, beside his patient and added, "Now we have to wait."

WWW

 _Much later_

It was the middle of the night when Jim, keeping vigil on Artemus, heard him moan in his sleep, and then saw him opening his eyes. He immediately moved closer on his knees and placed a hand on his partner's chest. "It's alright, Artie, you're safe."

Blinking in total surprise Artemus breathed, "Jim? I'm alive? I could I have sworn… I was dead." Then a blinding headache attacked him fiercely and he groaned. The nausea was overwhelming but he somehow managed not to retch, but it was close. "Oh boy!"

Rolling a blanket into a ball, Jim placed it under Artie's head frowned angrily. "You're not dead, but that was close. What you did was foolish! You could have been killed!"

Seeing that Jim was angry, he said, "I realize it now. And I'm sorry I scared you Jim. But I wanted to stop a carnage. The Cheyenne were ready to kill the soldiers coming here. The soldiers would have fired at them to defend themselves… I had to do something." His hand cautiously went to his aching temple and felt a set of stitches beneath his fingertips on top of a bump. They itched. "It's just a graze." Then he rubbed the back of his head touching a lump there, grimacing in pain. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat. "Your fall probably aggravated your mild concussion" – 'which is probably now a severe concussion', he reflected.

Frowning Jim asked, "How are you feeling?"

The older man grimaced. "I need to sit… nauseous." He stifled a painful groan as Jim sat him up. Immediately pain exploded over the back of his head. He grabbed his head as vertigo set in. The inside of the tepee swirled and span out of focus around him and he swallowed rising bile. "Ow…" He briefly noticed that his whole body was marred with bruises and cuts before he swayed backward. "Need to lay down… sick." He met Jim's eyes reflecting his partner's worriedness. "It's not so bad, Jim, stop worrying. It is just a concussion - well another one. I'll live."

Furious Jim pursed his lips before growling, "Yes, you will. But one day…. You're not indestructible Artie. Nobody's indestructible. You were shot!"

Artie gave Jim a weary smile and said, "Yeah I was, that happens in our line of work. I would add that it happens a lot to me." He smiled playfully. "You attract women and I bullets… and other projectiles. I was injured once with a stone thrown out of a sling!"

Still angered, Jim continued, "That's not funny. You could have died! If that bullet had been just a few inches to the right, you would be dead now!" His voice cracked. "I could have lost you." He ran a shaky hand through his hair and his tone softened. "I don't know what I'd do without you Artemus… You're like a brother to me… in fact, you're my blood brother too. We mingled our blood too, you remember? We're family."

Tears were stinging his eyes when Artemus raised a hand and smiled at Jim, "Yes we are, and I remember. I care about you too, Jim, deeply. I have a brother's love for you, you know that… I'm sorry I got hurt. I'm sorry you were scared."

Pressing Artie's hand in his Jim nodded, his eyes stinging. "Okay…" his voice wavered off.

Lowering his hand, too tired to keep it upright, Artie said, "Don't worry about me, I'm going to be okay…" He closed his eyes for a couple of seconds, reopened them seeing deep concern marking every line of his best friend's face. To relax him, he added, teasingly, "I'm okay. But I think you're overreacting a bit, Jim."

Baffled Jim stayed opened-mouthed for a few seconds. "Overreacting? Me? _Me_? no, I'm not! I'm not the one who is overreacting here, but you, YOU! I'm not the one who galloped right toward those soldiers, in full Cheyenne attire, holding a spear!" He paused and added an obvious threat in his voice, "Don't you dare do that again. Just don't!"

Artie chuckled softly. ""Or what, you'll tell your mom?" then he grinned at him playfully.

Giving Artie a stern look, Jim said, "I'll tell your mom." "Then using a softened tone he added, "I mean it, you're all I got, Artie. Promise me you'll be more careful… and to be less emotional."

Artie smiled up at Jim. "I can't help it. I'm like that." Seeing Jim giving him a black look, he chuckled softly. "I promise I'll try." He turned his head in the opposite direction and watched American Knife for a few seconds, who was sleeping soundly, wrapped in blankets. Then he looked back at his partner. "What happened after I fell off my horse?" he whispered.

Sitting cross-legged Jim said, "I gave the letter from the President to the Lieutenant commanding the detachment and told him to give it to Colonel Jackson. Then I put you across my saddle, I mounted Mo and I came here as soon as possible. American Knife took care of you."

Artie sniffed his hand and wrinkled his nose. "Buffalo grease and wild herbs… it's kinda smelly. But as usual American Knife's salves are very efficacious."

Jim nodded. "Red Tailfeather came here when you were still passed out, and he said he's giving you another eagle feather for your bravery on behalf of your band. He said too, that there will be a ceremony before we leave the settlement."

Artie blushed with both pleasure and pride. "I have two eagle feathers now! Receiving an eagle feather from any tribe Chief is the greatest honor. Some warriors might be awarded only two or three honor feathers in their whole lifetime, so difficult are they to earn, he said, and I have two – and I'm a white man! That's really something exceptional!"

Smiling Jim said, "Like you, Artie."

Blushing again Artemus said, "Thank you Jim. Did the Chief tell you anything else? Perhaps something about the gathering?"

Jim nodded. "Yes, you'll accompany him to the Chiefs' gathering, as a member of his group, as a warrior, and once there you will talk to the Chiefs, read the letter from the President and convince them not to go on the warpath."

Surprised Artie frowned. "You're not coming?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I can't. I'm not a Cheyenne. While you're at the gathering, I'll be at Fort Donaldson having a discussion with Colonel Jackson. " He waved a stern finger at Artemus, gave him a serious look, and said, "Don't do anything stupid while I'm gone."

Looking innocent, Artie smiled. "Me?"

WWW

 _The next morning_

Red Tailfeather, American Knife, White Eagle and four warriors were galloping along the red river when suddenly, a group of other Indians, at least a dozen, emerged from the forest and cut off their route.

Immediately they took their bows and arrows and pointed them at Red Tailfeather and his group who had just halted, more than surprised.

The leader of the other Cheyenne raised his hand, bowed his head in respect and in the Cheyenne language, said, "Haáahe! Chief Ma'evoto." He looked at Artemus and pointed his finger at him. "We want the White Cheyenne. Send him to me and you will be free to go to the gathering in peace, and not be harmed. But If you don't you will all be killed."

Ma'evoto glanced at Artemus who turned Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse around so he could face the Chief – showing his back to the 'enemy' Cheyenne' and used the sign language to tell him to wait.

Ma'evoto nodded.

He knew that White Eagle had a plan.

Artemus then placed his horse beside his blood-brother's mustang and discreetly fished Grant's letter from inside his shirt. He reached out and said to American Knife, in a low voice, "These Cheyenne don't want peace, but war, and they want me because I have a letter from the President – with his promises. They don't want me to read it at the Cheyenne Chiefs' gathering."

Nodding, American Knife said, "You're right." Still whispering, he added, "Someone who was present when you told Red Tailfeather about your mission and about the President's letter, told the Cheyenne who are ready to go on the warpath. Red Tailfeather will discover who he is – or who they are because he couldn't be the only spy in our band."

Artemus nodded. "Take the letter and go to the gathering, read it on my behalf. I won't be able to do it, as I'm going to draw them after me and take them in the opposite direction. When they realize that I do not have the letter, it will be too late, you will have already almost reached Black Rocks."

The Medicine man shook his head. "They could kill you."

Artemus smiled. "And if I don't, we will all be killed. Don't worry, you told me Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse is the fastest horse in the whole Indian Territory, they won't catch me. I'm going to head back to the settlement. Once there, I'll wait for news."

His brow furrowed in worry American Knife slid the letter inside his own shirt and nodded. "Be careful, brother. May your Guardian Spirit protect you."

White Eagle nodded. "I will, and thank you." He patted Mo's neck with affection as the horse was tossing his head, neighing and pounding the ground with its hoofs impatient to be on its way again. "You know that it's going to be a hell of a ride and you're impatient to set off, big guy. Alright, let's go!"

Mounted bareback like the others, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse hit the flanks of his pinto horse with his reins, darted in front of American Knife and quickly gathered speed – the other Cheyenne warriors on his tail.

Red Tailfeather, American Knife and the other braves rode rapidly in the direction of Black Rocks, 20 miles away.

Tbc


	10. Act Four part Three

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **ACT FOUR**

 **Part three**

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse galloped wildly across the plain, Artemus gripping the gelding with his knees, his fists tightened against the 'war bridle', a cord made from hide, that was looped around the lower jaw of the horse for control.

He could hear the warriors behind him, trying to catch up with him. But it was useless. The pinto horse was far too fast.

However, several arrows whizzed right past his sides and head missing his body by inches. _Damn it._ 'Too close for comfort', he thought, pure adrenaline coursing through his entire body.

Flattening himself over Mo's withers to become a harder target Artemus engaged Mo to gallop in zig zags, knowing it was much more difficult for his pursuers to hit him the more erratically he moved.

Other arrows buzzed past him.

Soon the sounds of hoof beats and the cries of the warriors diminished and then became distant. He knew he had outdistanced them.

He was smiling; relieved when he suddenly let out a strangled cry as he felt something piercing the skin of his back, embedding in his flesh a little more with each movement of the horse.

He had been hit by an arrow.

His pursuers had slowed down so as to have a more precise aim, he thought, trying to ignore the painful, burning sensation radiating from his back.

He rapidly felt lightheaded as blood was pouring from the wound and his vision blurred. He gripped the mane of the gelding even more tightly.

Pain finally claimed Artie as he blacked out.

Feeling that his owner was slowly slipping from his back Mo slowed down and stopped just before Artie collapsed to the ground.

Five minutes later, the leader of the Cheyenne warriors slid from his horse – and faced an angry and protective Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse shielding his owner with his large frame.

The gelding tossed his head, and flattened his ears back, the whites of his eyes showing as he flared his nostrils and curled his lip in warning.

Two warriors surrounded Mo and caught his sole rein before he could rear up. But Mo snorted and stamped his hooves and moved backward, wanting to escape.

In the meantime the leader of the Cheyenne crouched beside Artemus and searched for the letter from President Grant.

He didn't find it, and – very upset, he took his knife and placed the blade against Artemus's neck. Then he calmed down as he realized that Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse had probably given the letter to American Knife when he had turned his back on them.

He glanced at his two braves. "Release the horse!" and they did. He stood up and jumped on the back of his palomino. "American Knife has the letter!" he said to the others. "It's now too late to stop him!" He looked down at the prone figure of White Eagle, lying unconscious on his side on the lush grass and smiled cruelly. "We failed, but nothing is lost. Perhaps the Chiefs, too angry, will refuse to read the Big Father's letter." He glanced at Artie's prone form and added, "It's not a bad day. The White Cheyenne is dying. The wolves and buzzards will feast tonight!"

WWW

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse lowered his head to his owner and sniffed his face, before moving Artie's head to the side with his muzzle.

But Artie remained motionless.

The horse did it again but Artie didn't regain consciousness.

Mo, worried, moved away and began trotting, then he was galloping as he headed toward Red Tailfeather's settlement to seek help.

Mo was a few miles from the settlement when he suddenly noticed Blackjack galloping (with Jim on his back) toward the settlement and moved toward his four legged companion and his owner.

Seeing the pinto horse rider-less, his one rein war bridle floating around his neck, Jim West immediately knew that something bad had happened to his partner.

He felt his stomach turn over in alarm.

He grabbed the horse's white and chocolate mane soothing the horse with quiet, soft touches. "Shh… easy Mo, easy."

He noticed there was blood on the horse's white coat. "Oh God…" rubbing Mo's head, he asked the intelligent indian horse, "Where's your master, Mo? Where'd you leave White Eagle? Lead me to Artemus!"

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse his sides lathered, nostrils flaring, whinnied as he shifted from foot to foot nervously, then he suddenly pivoted and galloped in the opposite direction, and to Jim's surprise, he headed in the direction of the Red River, opposite to Black Rocks.

Jim urged his horse into a gallop, slapping the reins against the horse's sides, following Artemus horse as it galloped away.

One hour later, Jim spotted his partner lying on his side, in the middle of a vast prairie. He rapidly dismounted and sank to his knees beside the other man – noticing the shaft of an arrow protruding from his bloodied back. He took Artie's pulse: it was rapid and erratic. But Artemus was still breathing, he was still alive, he thought, with immense relief.

He stood, patted Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse high on her collar and said, "Thank you. But Artemus is not out of the woods, Mo, far from it."

He opened his right saddlebag and pulled out a flask of whiskey. Then he took Artie's knife and gently rolled the unconscious man onto his stomach.

He cut Artemus's buckskin shirt, removed it and grimaced as he saw that the arrowhead was deeply embedded in his left side with a good portion of the shaft too.

He poured some of the whiskey into the wound and Artie moaned. He slowly came around and yelled as a searing pain engulfed his back.

The older man tried to move but West straddled his legs and placing a hand between his shoulder blades pinned him to the ground. He leaned toward Artie and said, "I'm going to remove that arrow from your back buddy, then we are going back to the settlement. Okay?"

Screwing his eyes shut and gritting his teeth Artie nodded. "Okay."

Jim removed Artie's belt and shove it in the older man's mouth. "I'm sorry Artie, but it's going to hurt like hell," he said.

Grimacing, Artie replied, "It already hurts."

With one hand on Artemus's back to pin him to the ground, Jim started cutting the skin then the flesh around the arrowhead. Artie groaned against the belt in his mouth. "I watched American Knife do this to you before… But I'm not as skilled as he is…" He said apologetically.

The younger man cut the flesh deeper and swallowed back bile as blood shot up from the wound around the shaft, soaking his hands.

Groaning, moaning, panting, Artemus couldn't help but thrash, tossing his head from side to side, limbs jerking, causing more blood to seep from his wound.

Jim stopped a couple of minutes later to pour whiskey on the bleeding cut flesh to clear away Artie's blood and prevent any infection – and Artemus let out a long muffled scream, screwing his eyes shut tight against the agony. "I'm so sorry, Artie…"

The older man croaked, "S'okay, Jim."

Finally Jim succeeded in dislodging the leaf-shaped arrow head from the torn flesh. "It's going to be over soon buddy, hold on! the arrow head doesn't have notches…it should come out easily…" and he slowly removed it before pouring the rest of the whisky into the wound.

Mercifully, Artemus blacked out.

Smelling a foul odor Jim brought the arrowhead close to his nose and wrinkled it. His face lost all color as he realized that it was coated with poison.

WWW

 _Much later_

It was the middle of the night when Artemus regained consciousness, drowsy, and so, so tired. His eyelids felt like lead weights, and it took him a minute to open them. The first thing he saw was spots dancing in front of him, then they vanished and he saw Jim sitting on the other side of a fire, looking at him, pale, eyes wet with tears.

He was devastated.

He let out a resigned sigh and breathed, "I'm not going to make it this time, right? Let me guess… the arrowhead was coated with poison… How long before I die?"

Swallowing hard Jim shook his head. Then, his face twisted in a pained expression, he let out, his voice hoarse, "I don't know, Artie. I don't know."

Sweat pouring off of him Artie gave Jim a weak smile. "Well… I won't say I'm happy to die, quite the… opposite actually, but I'm glad… I'm not going to die alone… I always knew that… that you would be here Jim, at my side, when… when…" He groaned and bit down on his lip. "H-hurts…" Violent tremors suddenly shook him and he curled in on himself. He was hot, so hot. It was like he was burning up from the inside out, he thought. "I'm not feeling good. It's like my insides are burning, attacked by some kind of acid…" then he started thrashing wildly on the ground.

Immediately Jim pulled Artemus on to his lap watching as beads of sweat were dripping slowly down the side of his partner's washed-out face. "I'm here, Artie."

Artie grimaced and hissed in a shallow breath. "Yes you are…" The last of the color had drained from his face and he swallowed convulsively.

Suddenly he turned away and he emptied the contents of his stomach. When he was finally done retching, he croaked, "I'm sorry, Jim."

Shaking his head, Jim grasped Artie's hand as tightly as he could. "Don't be," he said as Artemus moved on to his side with his head pillowed on his friend's thigh. "Do you want some water?"

Shivering now Artemus shook his head. His breathing was labored and his heart rate slowing. He coughed to clear his throat. "No, thank you." His voice was laboured and full of pain. He shifted restlessly, and groaned and closed his eyes. "I won't be able to… to write the mission report this time… You'll do it for me right? Put this in it: Red Tailfeather, American Knife, four warriors and I were on our way to… to Black Rocks when Cheyenne from another band stopped us along the river. They wanted… me, and the letter. I gave it to American Knife… and I galloped away. The other Cheyenne pursued me. I was shot… I mean I was hit by an arrow in the back. I hope that American Knife was able to read the letter at the gathering… and that the leaders of the Cheyenne won't go on the warpath…" He re-opened his eyes and started panting. "Indian tribes often use poisoned arrows… and they use different kinds of poisons… from poisonous snakes to some plant juices… I'm wondering what they put on that arrowhead."

A wave of pain set him writhing.

Hot tears fell down Jim's face and he tried to smile. "Always the chemist… till the end." He pulled Artie into his arms, holding him against his chest, feeling the heat pouring off his partner's skin. "I've so many things to tell you Artie… and so little time" A shadow crossed his face. "I feel so powerless, so helpless. You're dying and I can't do anything to prevent it, it's just awful…."

Closing his eyes again, Artie whispered, "I have no regrets. Being your partner, best friend and blood brother, being at your side, living through all these adventures with you… is the best thing that has ever happened to me. I've loved it. Every bit of it – even when I was hurt, shot and tortured…That was a pleasure Jim… Thank you for being my best friend, my brother… love you buddy… See you on the other side… but take your time, okay? I will wait for you and I'll keep the brandy… warm for us. And take care of Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse and Marmalade for me…"

The pain was less and less.

Jim closed his eyes a couple of seconds as his face fell. "I will." Then he watched as Artie's eyes lost focus, and whispered, "Stay with me, Artie. Don't go. Don't ever go, please…" and felt tears gather behind his eyes. But he knew it was impossible. Artie was dying.

"Good night, Jim." Artemus mumbled as numbness was engulfing his body and mind, and he slowly slipped into unconsciousness.

His strained face relaxed into a smile as his breathing slowed and he closed his eyes, his expression entirely peaceful.

His fingers went slack in Jim's hands.

Jim clung to Artemus, holding him even more tightly in his arms, attempting to blink back tears. "It's okay, I'm right here, buddy." He gently laid Artie's limp body on the ground and put two shaking fingers on Artemus's neck. He waited for a few seconds, but there was nothing there. No pulse. He let out a strangled sob and leaning forward, he rested his forehead against Artie's. "Good night sweet prince, may flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

He cried.

WWW

 _The next morning_

Feeling something on his shoulder Jim woke up in start and in a reflex, he instantly un-holstered his revolver – pointing it at Red Tailfeather standing next to him, frowning in concern.

He lowered his gun, sighing in relief.

He noticed that the warriors accompanying the Chief were looking around them – on their guard. Cheyenne wanting war could be in the vicinity and waiting to attack them.

The Cheyenne Chief pointed at American Knife kneeling beside Artemus's prone form. "Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse is in good hands."

The Medicine Man tried again to rouse his blood-brother. "Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse, wake up!" he said as he gently shook the other man's shoulder. He placed the back of his hand against the white Cheyenne forehead. His skin was dry and hot.

Shoulders slumped, eyes humid, Jim sighed and shook his head. "He's not going to wake up, American Knife, he's dead, poisoned."

American Knife pressed his hand to the side of Artie's clammy neck and sighed in relief. "A dead man has no fever and no pulse. No, he's not dead, Jim," he said.

Beaming as intense relief and joy washed over him Jim said, "He's paralyzed? But I took his pulse, I couldn't feel it."

Motšėškevé'ho'é nodded. "It wasn't a poison, but a powerful drug." He raised the arrow and smelt the bloody arrowhead. "That drug is made to paralyze the enemy – in order to take prisoners. The drug is so powerful that it slows down the beating of the heart considerably to the point that it is very difficult to detect it." He pulled a handful of dried herbs out of his bag and added, "Those who did this didn't want to kill him, but to capture him to steal the letter from the President. The Great Spirit protects Artemus, everyone knows that, and killing him would anger the Great Sprit. No one wants to anger the Great Spirit." He smiled reassuringly. "With the antidote I'm preparing, he should wake in a few hours." He shook his head, frowning in concern. "He's deeply unconscious, but I'm more concerned with his wound. It's infected."

Feeling guilty Jim said, "I did my best with a knife and whiskey… but I'm not a surgeon, or accustomed to operate on people like you are."

The Medicine Man nodded. "You did the right thing James, don't blame yourself. Fortunately no major organ is involved. It's a flesh wound, deep but notlife- threatening. It will heal easily."

Feeling reassured – but only a little, because Artie wasn't out of the woods yet, Jim frowned and asked, "How did you find us?"

The Cheyenne smiled. "We spotted the smoke of your fire on our way back to the settlement and we came here to see who was on our territory." Taking a buffalo hide pouch, he placed the dried herbs inside, then borrowing Jim's canteen he added water to them. "When I saw that Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse wasn't dead but unconscious and unresponsive to any stimuli, I immediately knew that the arrowhead was coated with a paralyzing drug. Fortunately, I always have a large variety of medicinal herbs and potions in my bag to prepare all kind of remedies and antidotes."

Pulling Artemus against him, the Cheyenne brought the bowl containing the antidote to the other man's lips and pinched his nose. Artie automatically opened his mouth in order to breathe and American Knife used the occasion to pour the liquid into his mouth.

Artemus swallowed reflexively but otherwise he stayed unconscious. "There." The medicine man nodded and one bulky warrior lifted Artie in his arms. "Gently," he said.

The warrior gently laid him on a travois attached to Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse and then wrapped him in a blanket.

Placing his hand on Artemus's shoulder in a protective gesture, Motšėškevé'ho'é said, ""I'll take care of his wound once we're back at the settlement. I can't do it here. That's why White Bear and Black Crow built that travois while you were still sleeping."

Jim nodded. "Let's get back to the settlement."

WWW

 _Much later,_

 _Under American Knife's tepee_

Lying on his stomach on a nest of furs, Artemus Gordon was slowly coming around while American Knife sat cross-legged at his side.

Immediately Artie groaned and opened his eyes. He lifted his head and then looked around him both confused and disoriented. "Jim? Help me;" he said in a whisper.

Moving on his knees beside his partner Jim placed his hand on Artemus's skin. He noticed that the other man was burning up, his skin a deep scarlet shade. He was shaking and drenched in sweat. "Yes, I'm here. You're going to be okay buddy."

Artie blinked dazedly. "Where's the General?"

Puzzled, Jim frowned. "The General? You mean the President? He's in Washington, Artie. We'll head back there once you're okay."

Closing his eyes Artie murmured, "I loved my dad… I was just a boy when he died… horribly. I don't want to die like he did… kill me, please." He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs as he rocked back and forth.

Jim patted his best friend's shoulder reassuringly. "You're not dying Artie. That doctor read you the wrong medical file. You don't have you father's disease." He looked at American Knife anxiously. "What's wrong with him? He knows all that."

The Medicine man used a knife to re-open the half-closed wound which was red and looking inflamed and a mixture of dark blood and pus poured out, pooling on Artie's lower back.

Jim blanched. "God…"

American Knife continued, "He has a strong fever and he's totally lost. He could even have hallucinations." He pressed on each side of the wound and then all around it to get all the foul liquids out, eliciting a series of cries from Artie who tried to curl in on himself, to flee the intense pain. But American Knife, using a hand like steel pinned him down onto the furs. "Don't move Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. I need to clean your wound." Using a cloth he gently cleaned the wound and then poured some antiseptic potion on it – eliciting a hiss and a low groan from his patient. as the sting of the liquid permeated the wound. "I know it hurts, but it's not over yet…"

Gritting his teeth Artie croaked, "Just kill me… I… I don't want to be hanged for spying. I prefer a bullet in the heart; it's rapid, painless… please."

Feeling helpless Jim rubbed Artie's scalp to soothe him. "It's going to be alright buddy. It's just a bad moment to go through, and then you'll be okay."

His body racked with spasms Artie gasped out, "I want to see General Grant before I die… I have to tell him that I like him very much… that he's my second dad. I don't want to die, I don't want to die…" He tossed and turned on the furs, started to cry and buried his face in his hands.

Motšėškevé'ho'é stitched the wound as fast as he could. Then he placed a clean cloth on it before wrapping a bandage around Artie's middle. He leant toward Artemus and said, "Rest now. By morning the fever should be completely gone."

Reaching his hand out Artie mumbled, '"I'm sorry Sir… Mister President… all that blood… I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. You died…"

Jim nodded. "He thinks Grant's here with us, he's hallucinating."

Moaning in despair Artie grabbed a fur and covered his head with. "I'm responsible. I have your blood on my hands… God! Nooo!"

Gently, American Knife removed the fur Artie was using to hide himself, trembling, and ran soothing circles on the other man's back. "It's going to be alright, White Eagle," he said.

Artemus felt weak but he managed to move his head and make eye contact with the Cheyenne. "Thank you," he said softly.

Darkness came over him and his world faded to black.

Jim ran a hand through the tangle of Artemus's dark curls and sighed. "Poor Artie. He ran out of luck lately. Is he going to be alright?"

The Cheyenne nodded. "Yes. I've cleaned the wound and by evening the infection should be completely gone." He placed a blanket over Artemus, up to his shoulders and then sat cross-legged, watching Jim with questioning eyes. "What happened with his father?"

Sitting cross-legged too Jim said, "I don't know the details, just that his father died from a rapidly degenerative, incurable and fatal disease. His father died in a terrible crisis of dementia. Artemus saw everything. He was just a boy. His mother raised him alone."

American Knife nodded. "Losing his father was probably traumatic, especially at a young age. Hopefully, he found a new one."

Jim nodded. "And a famous one. A man the Indians call the Great Father."

Tbc.


	11. Tag

**THE NIGHT OF THE CHEYENNE CALLED WHITE EAGLE**

 **By Andamogirl**

WWW

 **TAG**

 _The next evening_

Smiling James West was watching his horse move about in among all the Indian mares and geldings, parading, making the other stallions jealous and agitated when he noticed that Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse had suddenly pivoted and was neighing.

Mo was the first to react when he saw Artemus. He left his equine companions, trotted off, stopped in front of his master and nickered a greeting. Then he butted his shoulder, pawing at the ground.

Smiling, Artie rubbed the painted horse's neck. "Yes, yes, I'm happy to see you too, Mo." And Mo whickered softly, pressing his velvet nose into his owner's palm.

Then Artie looked at Jim heading toward him. "Hiya Jim." He parted from the gelding and whimpered. He swayed then listed slowly to the right side, feeling dizzy, his legs unable to hold his weight any longer.

Moving fast, Jim grabbed his partner just before he collapsed to the ground, holding him upright. "What are you doing up? You should be lying on your bed of furs!" He chastised, his brow furrowed. "Does American Knife know that you left his tepee? That's very imprudent, Artie."

The older man chuckled. "I know, mother, but I'm ok," he said weakly, taking short breaths. But it was a lie. The pain was there strong and constant. But Cheyenne warriors dismissed pain, he thought. "I needed some fresh air and to empty my bladder – and I needed to talk to you about our mission."

They both sat on a dead tree trunk which served as a bench and Jim said, "The mission was a success, Artie. The Cheyenne Chiefs received the President's promises and accepted them and they decided to keep the peace with the whites. Red Tailfeather told me that cattle are actually pouring into the whole Indian Territory along with blankets, good rations, etc. and the Cavalry has already arrested a dozen cattle thieves on the border and even prospectors searching for gold. The war was averted and the Cheyenne are happy."

Artie smiled happily. "That's good news! Does the President know that?"

Jim shook his head. "No, I'm going to leave the settlement for Fort Donaldson in an hour to send a telegram to the President. In the meantime, I want you to stay in American Knife's tepee and get some rest. You're not in tip top shape buddy." Artemus's stomach suddenly growled it needed to be filled. Jim added, "I'm going to tell Agile Deer to prepare something for you."

Artie smiled. "Thanks, Jim."

Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse chose that moment to bury his muzzle in Artemus's hair and then sniffled at his owner's temple.

Artemus chuckled and said, "He's as affectionate as a dog."

Jim nodded. "And he's very faithful too. After you were hurt, he left you to search for help. He was on his way to the settlement when I saw him. Mo led me directly to you. Without his help, you would be dead Artie. He's a very special horse."

Smiling Artie rubbed his gelding's bi-colored coat. "He's Cheyenne."

WWW

 _The next morning_

The complete Cheyenne band was gathered around Red Tailfeather and White Eagle. As for Jim, he was standing a little farther away, beside his friend American Knife.

The Medicine man was very proud. His blood brother was receiving his second eagle feather, symbol of bravery on behalf of his band. "Only a few braves here have two feathers," he said.

Nodding Jim smiled proudly. "It's Artie, that's enough explanation."

Chief Ma'evoto. holding an eagle feather, placed his other hand on Artie's shoulder and then said, "You are a brave man, Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. Your action in stopping the Cavalry detachment saved numerous lives among your people and what you did with the Cheyenne from the other band – saved more lives. That's why you deserve this eagle feather."

Artemus was moved to tears. "Thank you," he whispered and hurried to wipe his tears from his cheeks, raising his chin proudly.

Cheyenne don't cry, he thought as his bottom lip trembled.

Red Tailfeather nodded then slid the eagle feather behind the headband, in Artie's hair. "Be proud of that second feather, White Eagle," he said.

White Eagle nodded and felt himself flush slightly. "I am. Thank you. I'm deeply honored."

The Chief nodded then he added, "When a warrior has collected enough feathers, they are then made into a Feather headdress. Perhaps one day, you will have one. Come back anytime Vóaxaa'ȯhvó'komaestse. We will always welcome you here, you're one of us." Then he left, heading toward the group of elders.

Artemus was immediately surrounded by the warriors and congratulated. After many manly hugs, he finally joined Jim and American Knife.

He winced. The pain in his back was a persistent throbbing.

Motšėškevé'ho'é placed a hand on his blood-brother's shoulder. "I'm proud of you, brother. You're the first white man to get two eagle feathers."

Jim nodded and added, "He's the first white man to be a Cheyenne." Then he patted Artemus shoulder in affection and pride to have Artie at his side. "My partner, White Eagle."

Artemus hugged American Knife and then parted. "I will come back –not on assignment, but when I'm on leave, so I can really enjoy my stay," he said.

The Medicine man nodded. "I look forward to that day, Voaxaa'ȯhvo'komaests."

Jim reached out his hand and the Cheyenne shook it. "This was a pleasure, American Knife, as always. If you have any problem, don't hesitate to contact us. Colonel Jackson will transmit your message to us." Then he helped Artemus to mount Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse.

Artie gave his horse a pat on his neck, wincing. Mo pinned back her ears and pranced on the spot, restless to get moving. "Let's go back home."

Jim mounted his stallion and asked, "You okay Artie?"

Still hurting, Artemus nodded. "I'm fine." He looked down at the Medicine Man. "Take care, brother. Be seeing you."

American Knife raised his hand. "Safe journey," he said.

The two agents trotted away, side by side.

WWW

 _A week later_

 _Military Hospital, Washington D.C._

Dr. Henderson pocketed his stethoscope after a complete medical examination – baffled. "Your friend American Knife did a great job. Your wounds – the one on your temple and the one on your back – have healed perfectly. I'd like to meet him. We could share very interesting medical information."

Artemus closed his shirt. "I'm sorry Colonel, but it won't happen. Medicine Men keep their remedies secret. So, am I fit for service?"

Stephen Henderson nodded. "Yes you are. After all that happened to you in the last months, another man than you would be dead. You are remarkably resilient, Artemus – but I've known that since the war. But I'd like you to stay out of any physical action for two days." As Artemus was putting his waistcoat on, he asked, "What about your dizzy spells and headaches?

Shaking his head, Artie said, "They're gone." He put his jacket on. "Can I go, Sir?"

The door opened and President Grant entered the CMO's office. He smiled. "Ah! Artemus, I'm glad to see you, son. How are you feeling?"

Artie stood at attention. "I'm fine, Sir."

Ulysses S. Grant wasn't convinced – because he knew that Artemus usually lied about his physical state to get out of the doctor's clutches as soon as possible – unless of course if lovely nurses were involved. He glanced at Henderson. "Stephen?"

The doctor looked at Artie then at the POTUS. "Mr. Gordon is fine, Sir. But I'd like him to stay out of any physical action for two days, because he's tired."

The President nodded smiling devilishly. "Knowing that Mr. Gordon here has the reputation of being a magnet for trouble, even when on downtime between assignments or when he's on leave, I'm going to personally see to it, doctor." He saw Artemus paling a little and stiffening, then he added, "My secretary is going to have a surprise 48 hours vacation. Mr. Gordon here will replace him. Don't worry, Stephen, Mr. Gordon won't leave the White House. I'll have a bunk settled in the Oval Office just for him."

Still standing at attention, Artemus Gordon did his best not to show is lack of enthusiasm. But he failed. He was trapped.

Forty-eight hours of tedious paper-work. 'It's hell! My next injury will probably be a paper cut!' he mused as his face grew somber.

He suddenly realized that he was exhausted and his limbs seemed to weigh a ton. He rubbed a tired hand over his strained face.

Grant nodded. "Starting now. You're going to accompany me to the White House. Once there, you'll send a telegram to Jim. He'll be partner-less for the next 48 hours. Don't worry, he'll survive." He grinned. "And you will survive also. And I particularly like the way you write your reports, Artemus, always have since the war. They're precise and concise, like I am. I have some work for you that will need that talent of yours."

Pleased by these compliments; Artemus smiled briefly. "Yes Sir, thank you Sir." Then his face reflected his unhappiness again.

Grant chuckled. Artemus looked like a man who was going to be executed. He took pity on the other man and patting Artie's shoulder in a fatherly gesture, he said, "Alright, go back to the Wanderer Artemus but stay there, and don't do anything tiring!"

Immensely relieved, Artie nodded, color returning to his pale cheeks. "Yes Sir, thank you Sir. Goodbye Colonel, goodbye Mr. President." Then he left the room hurriedly, dreading that the President would change his mind again. He almost whistled with joy in the corridor.

WWW

 _Later on the Wanderer_

Jim West was clearing the table of the empty plates when there was a knock at the door and a split second later it opened, revealing President Grant.

He froze on the spot, very surprised and then stood at attention. "Sir."

Grant smiled. "At ease, Mr. West," he said closing the door behind him, leaving the two agents who made up his escort on the platform of the Wanderer. "I came here to congratulate you personally for the success of your last mission. It wasn't an easy one." He grinned. "Your partner and you are going to receive a commendation from the President for that, I heard."

Jim beamed. "Thank you Sir." He put the plates back on the table and gestured to the closest sofa. "Do you want something to drink Sir?"

Grant shook his head. "No thank you. Where is Artemus?"

Jim chuckled. "Well, after dinner, he usually goes to the stable car to feed the horses Sir. Do you want to talk to him?"

The older man nodded.

They entered the stable car a couple of minutes later… to discover Artemus Gordon in Mo'éhno'ha Ȯhtameōhtsėstse's stall, lying on a comfy nest of hay, rolled in a ball, sleeping soundly.

Mo stopped eating his feed and turned his head to look at the two men. The gelding flattened his ears and waved his tail rapidly, pawing at the floor in warning.

Grant was a great _connoisseur_ of horses since he was a teenager so he immediately understood those telltale signs. The pinto horse didn't want them to disturb his owner's sleep.

He smiled. "He's very protective."

Jim nodded. "All the Cheyenne are with their own, Sir. Horses and their owners included."

The end

(1) Sophocles, Sophocles II: Ajax/Women of Trachis/Electra/Philoctetes

(2) Hamlet, Willian Shakespeare.


End file.
